The Beginning of Forever
by AineMorrigan
Summary: She gives you the most terrified look you've ever seen, as you grab her trembling hand. Outside the plane window, the ocean is rapidly approaching, and you wonder if this is it? House/Cam, COMPLETE
1. House: The 'C' Word

**A/N:** I'm at a standstill where my other story is concerned (no idea what to write), so I figured I'd start something else I'd had planned for quite awhile. I love to take storylines that exist and warp them to make fan-fic, so I figured I'd do something that would take me the entire summer to write. I've got most of it planned out, but am writing chapter to chapter, so bear with me. As usual, I love constructive criticism, so feel free to leave it. Btw, the character in parenthesis is the character who's POV is taking place in each chapter, in case you haven't figured it out.

* * *

**THE BEGINNING OF FOREVER**

**Chapter 1 (House)**

**"The "C" Word"**

The first inclination upon hearing the words "conference" and "mandatory" was to grab your vicodin, portable television and barricade yourself into one of the clinic exam rooms. The last time you were forced into one of these long drawn out hell-fests, you spent the entire time in the darkest, most remote area of the lecture hall complaining to Wilson about paint on the walls, and its peeling scoring a ten on a ten point scale where excitement was concerned.

Of course, he'd told you to shut up, and went about listening carefully and taking notes on the laptop he told you eight times you couldn't play solitaire on. God forbid he miss one piece of info that could save a dying bald child's life.

Anyway, SHE had corralled you into her office with the promises of lunch and vicodin, and by the time you'd sat down ever so trustingly, it was already too late. You'd been staring at her particularly low cut top in a transfixed daydream, when you heard THE word. The "C" word that would make any caring physician joyous at the possibility of a trip, and a chance to show off treatment plans and lecture to a room full of MD's who only showed up for the free stuff.

"Conference time House. I think you'll find this one interesting, as it's about diagnostics in the emergency medicine setting. Right up your alley, right?"

That did it.

"Aww, it's so nice of you to think of me, but no thanks. Really Cuddy, I've been thinking about putting in some more hours at the clinic as a favor to my most favorite of favorite hospital administrators. " You wonder if she's in a good enough of a mood to buy the mass amount of bullshit that has just come from your mouth.

"Ok. You'll do more hours, but hours doing WHAT, is the magic question. I'm almost positive medicine won't be involved!"

Damn her. You wonder if she's locked her office door if you try to make a limp for it?

"It's locked House, don't try it. Before you start to reason your way - ok, TRY to reason your way - out of it, hear me out and let me see if I can spark your interest at all."

You sit down and act mad when she mentions a free hotel SUITE (like you've never stayed in a nice hotel room before), mildly interested when she mentions a fair amount of traveling (further means nicer), and by the time she's mentioned the open bar after every presentation each night, you figure why the hell not?

"Oh, and it's in Australia." She shuffles a few papers on her desk, pulling out a brochure on Sydney and its tourist attractions.

Ok. Wait a minute.

"Awww, but it's so FAR to go to listen to a bunch of balding old MD's who think they're masters of the medical universe. It may be free, but I can get myself good and drunk right here in Jersey. Send Skippy the Kangaroo, he'd like that … going home for a visit and all." You give her that desperate look you only use when she's found you doing something particularly bad.

"First class sleeper seats and two weeks off clinic duty?"

Ok. Just MAYBE you can tough it out.

* * *

At five o'clock in the morning, you're thinking not along the lines of bright and cheerful, you're thinking more about which person you'd like to murder the most. You hold on to your fourth Starbucks espresso like its going to disappear any second, and wonder what the hell possessed you to agree to this. Once you've gotten through airport security and settle down into an uncomfortable airport chair for some pre-flight sleep however, you're thinking it won't be TOO bad.

That is, until you spy a familiar blonde head just beyond the realm of the airport security checkpoint.

Your upchuck reflexes are tested as you see Skippy the Bush Kangaroo himself, quickly exchanging saliva with your former immunologist. You're debating whether you should get up and break it up, but quickly pretend to be asleep as you see Cameron clear the metal detector and spy you lounging.

"You don't have to ignore me House. I saw you watching me and know you are awake."

You open an eye to let her know she was correct and wonder, silently, how anybody can possibly look so awake and composed (and so good, though you'd rather eat your cane than voice so) at this hour. She's also holding a Starbucks cup, only smiling at you and looking at you inquisitively.

"So. A week? Two? I know you wouldn't agree to do this for any less time free from the clinic."

You tell her two weeks and she laughs at you, telling you that you've gotten far too agreeable lately. She assumed you would have taken Cuddy to the cleaners, and gotten at least a month.

You inform her it was the free bar, time away from the devil and a week away from Dante's vision of hell that convinced you in the end - not the clinic.

She smiles at you, and you learn after a few moments of idle chit-chat, that she was asked last minute to go to this conference. Cuddy was thinking about sending Chase and another member of the emergency department, but it seemed to worry her that you'd do everything in your power to make sure he had a miserable time.

You pretend to look totally shocked, and innocent (she found that pretty funny).

She also let you know Chase wasn't very happy when he realized his girlfriend would be spending the week in HIS homeland with the colossal king of the assholes. She tells you she managed to calm him down, and assured him she'd make sure (and Cuddy would as well) you were on your best behavior, then asks you if you'll try and at least let her enjoy herself - she doesn't want to be dragging you out of the bar, completely drunk at three am, or bailing you out of any Australian prisons for God knows what.

You answer her by grabbing and downing the remainder of her coffee and joining the line for pre-boarding.

You've got the sneaking suspicion this trip is going to be more, and a lot better than you bargained for.


	2. Cameron: In the Air

**A/N:** A few reviews, so thank you to the few who left them. I love to get reviews, and it keeps me writing (hint, hint) - just a note to say you liked it, something you'd like to see, some constructive criticism - it can be anything! I've been kinda miffed at the David Shore interview saying that House/Cam had played itself out, and I think you can feel my opinion on that through this chapter, haha. The next one is unwritten, but should be up soon, and no the changes in the voice are not a mistake. I plan to use a different one (2nd person etc) for each character. Enjoy J

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**Chapter 2 (Cameron) **

** "In the Air"**

I spent the entire time in the car to the airport staring at him, silently. I wondered curiously to myself why Robert had been acting like an overprotective, worried, wounded puppy dog. It started when he found out three days ago that Cuddy had asked me to attend the diagnostics/emergency medicine conference in Australia, and I simply chalked it up to him being annoyed at not being asked to go.

I tried to remind him he'd left both fields and gone on to surgery, and he'd just give me a look. I had to wonder if he knew something I didn't, however, as I'd seen him in Cuddy's office three times in the past two days, arguing with her about something.

It turns out that I didn't have to wait long for an answer to his behavior.

Chase parked the car at the terminal after the minimal drive to Newark airport. Despite my protests to just say goodbye at the curb, because he'd pay a million dollars for parking, he insisted on grabbing my bags and walking me into the terminal. He waited for me to check in at the front gate, then grabbed my hand and we walked together towards the security checkpoint.

"I'm going to miss you Allie. We've never been away from each other for …. "

I stopped listening to him drone on about missing me, and found my vision wandering to the first gate beyond the security checkpoint. Once glance told me all I needed to know.

Surrounded by a pile of empty coffee cups, cane in hand, sat none other than Dr. Gregory House … who had caught me looking at him, and immediately pretended to be asleep, trademark golfer's cap pulled down over his eyes.

Chase caught me looking at him and quickly grabbed me by the shoulders, and pulled me into a kiss. More than slightly annoyed at his continual obvious (and obnoxious) need to display his ownership over me - this was one … okay one of many things that ticked me off about him - I kissed him back, told him I'd see him in a week, and walked through security and the metal detector.

I found myself smiling at these new revelations, and couldn't deny that the idea of spending a plane ride, and an entire week with House was appealing.

Ever since I'd quit a few months prior, I'd questioned my actions. Even though I was happy running the emergency department at Princeton-Plainsboro (and I guess hooking up with Chase), I felt at times like I was living one giant game of charades … a few more days and somebody would find out that I wasn't meant to be here, just playing the part. That tomorrow I'd wake up and it would go back to the comfortable routine of the past three years - just me, Chase, Foreman and of course, House … there to mock and belittle us at every turn.

Of course, it was no dream.

House had his new team, and seemed to be getting along just fine (well, for House , anyway). I'm always busy with my work, I see Chase every night, Foreman on occasion … but I barely see him. Days will go by where I will hear of how many people he made cry, or something completely idiotic he did, but I won't see HIM.

Do I dare say that I miss him?

Yes, ok, I'll admit it. Part of me is still the innocent, brunette, Cameron - the Cameron who wants nothing more to be accepted as an equal by him, and the Cameron who still wants his love. You can cover up yourself with new clothes and hair dye, but you never really cover up the feelings.

* * *

"HEY, you better share!"

"Not on your life House," I said, while tucking the bag of candy I'd brought with me, back into the travel bag currently sitting underneath my airplane seat.

The plane had been in the air for a few hours now, and we were both getting restless - myself at the lack of fresh air, and House at the number of miles left until we hit international waters and the free alcoholic beverage service would begin.

We'd already spent time talking about some of his current cases, watched a few episodes of some British comedy series based on the P.G. Wodehouse novels and I listened to him rant about his new team and Cuddy not wanting to get implants for his own viewing pleasure … we were BORED, and when House gets bored, that means he delves into the questions about my personal life. I saw him about to open his mouth again (with that questioning stare), when I was saved by a voice over the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we ask at this time that you return to your seats. We are now over international waters, and our complementary drink service will commence."

I had to laugh. Giddy as a frat boy, House had already pulled down his tray table, gameboy thrust aside, and was already flipping through the drink menu stuck in a pocket at the end of our row. Content with a diet coke and Belle and Sebastian cued up on my Ipod, I dozed off to the sight of House ordering eight more miniature bottles of Jack Daniels, and a fresh glass.

* * *

"CAMERON, YOU NEED TO WAKE UP, THE PLANE IS GOING DOWN!!"

I was going to kill him.

He was joking around of course, as a quick glance out the window told me we were level and cruising along just fine (the sky marshal on our plane didn't find it so funny however, and flashed his concealed firearm at House to remind him who was boss), but nonetheless it had scared me to be awoken so abruptly.

I threw my empty coke can at him.

He barely noticed, as he was back to paying attention to his personal television screen in front of him. I learned over, and there was House , laughing away in a macabre fashion at the pilot episode of the television show "LOST." He told me he'd brought his dvd's along for fun, because who can resist watching a show about a plane going down while you're actually ON one??

I tried to remind myself who I was flying with, and rolled my eyes.

"Hey Cameron, who'd you rather be stuck with on a deserted island? Me, the Brit, or Matthew Fox?" He looked at me and smiled, completely oblivious that he'd slurred the entire sentence, and the fact that I wasn't strong enough to haul him off the plane in his current state. Judging by the fact that I could smell the alcohol on his breath from two feet away, I figured he must have consumed the entire airplane's supply.

"Matthew Fox … totally," I found myself saying, "You may be brilliant, but in the case of a plane crash he's also a doctor and would more than likely be sober. Chase would be too busy looking to see if his comb and mirror survived impact. Can you do me a favor now House? Pass back out, because I'd like to go back to sleep."

He gave me a look of feigned hurt, and I went back to sleep - convincing myself that I didn't just see him smile before I closed my eyes.

* * *

The next time I awoke, I found I had missed dinner service. I flagged down our stewardess, and she let me know we were on the last hour of our plane ride, and would be arriving in Sydney shortly.

I sat up from my bed (I made a mental note to remind Cuddy - this was the way to travel!) and glanced over at my drunken companion.

Sound asleep with a Playboy magazine in his hands. How fitting.

I pulled out the manila envelope Cuddy had given me (which held all the information about the upcoming conference) and leafed through the wealth of material on Sydney, the parties being held at the conference, the hotel we'd be staying at and more. I opened up the brochure about the guest speakers (maybe there would be something interesting enough to keep House's attention for more than two seconds), and it was then that I saw it. A single name jumped off the page and smacked me right in the face.

**"9:00AM-12:00PM FLAMINGO CONFERENCE ROOM. DR. JOE ADAMS (CHICAGO, IL) "NEW PROCEDURES FOR DIAGNOSTICS IN AN EMERGENCY ROOM SETTING."**

The last time I'd seen him, he'd been sitting next to me in the waiting room at the hospital. Brian had just been admitted to the oncology floor's intensive care unit, and my parents had just left after I convinced them he'd be okay for now and that I was fine.

"_Come on Allie. You can't go through something like this alone! He's going to die! You heard the doctor say he'd be lucky to survive the night. He's my best friend … you know he'd want me to be there for you during all of this."_

_I'd pulled back from his ever approaching lips (I like to tell myself they didn't touch) and gone to sit by Brian's bedside. I held his hand, with only the rhythmic sound of the ventilator the only thing in the room keeping us company. _

_He'd died an hour later with me by his bedside, not thinking about him, but how I'd almost let his best friend kiss me … and how right it had felt. The overwhelming sense of guilt had topped the grief._

I pulled myself away from my thoughts to find House watching me with inquisitive eyes.

I slammed the brochure shut, grabbed the remainder of the alcoholic drink sitting on his tray table and downed it in one long gulp.

This was going to be a **LONG **week.


	3. House: It Begins

-1**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews, keep them coming! Don't be afraid to leave constructive criticism for me if you have it, I love it! The next chapter is planned, but unwritten - look for it sometime towards the end of next week (I've got finals coming up and am extremely busy) or the weekend. I'm glad you're all liking where I'm taking it so far, and the big drama is still yet to come. Anyway - enjoy!

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**Chapter 3 (House)**

"**It Begins"**

You're pretty sure this is what Dante had in mind when he described the levels of hell. Actually, you think, Dante Alighieri had it all wrong. He'd never gone to medical school, because he surely would have reworked the levels - even he would have found this too much to bear.

As if a plane ride longer than an hour with limited alcohol service (what kind of a law was it, that allowed somebody else to tell you when you had to stop?) hadn't been bad enough, you were now being forced into attending and listening to the lectures. The bonus of annoying and embarrassing Cameron was all good fun, but this was too much.

Cameron had been hardly speaking to you the past three days, even though you were both constantly around each other - she'd been taking your barbs with silent glares, and it was beginning to piss you off. At first you wondered if it was the plane ride - you had gotten rather trashed - but then wondered if it could have been more. You arrived in Sydney slightly hung over, but surprisingly, you'd not touched too much alcohol since then.

It had to be something else.

Since you'd checked in, you'd also noticed that Cameron had immediately taken to sporting her classic overly clenched look whenever she was in your presence, or out in public. It was followed by her constant glances around every room she entered, and her uncharacteristic lack of attention to the lectures.

Something was definitely eating at her, and you made up your mind quickly that you were going to figure it out.

"This is totally surreal. Here Cuddy thought it would be ME not paying attention, but in fact it's YOU that needs to grow an attention span." You wave your hand in front of Cameron's face, and she just stares.

"What?" She's looking at you like she only just now realized you were even sitting next to her.

"Please don't tell me you find this Dr. Adams guy so interesting that you can't even find words."

"Shut up House."

You notice her eyes look somewhat glassy …. Is she CRYING??

You're a bit concerned that your favorite ex-intern has lost it, but as soon as the thoughts pass through your head, she's returned to the land of the living. She's hurriedly typing something up on her laptop, and looking like nothing has happened.

Curiosity is screaming at you to question her, but you're going to have to wait - the lecture has ended and the morons taking notes around you are packing up their bags and talking animatedly about where they're going to go shopping, or surfing - as people are standing and filing out of the lecture hall.

Cameron and yourself return to your rooms, with an agreement (or at least a nod on her side) to meet together in the hotel lobby for dinner and the after-conference get together.

Thrusting your questions aside (you're going to pry them out of her oh so subtlety during dinner), you return to your room to take one very long nap, have a few drinks and watch some television before it's time to shower and play the time honored game of "tie, or no tie?" with your clothing, in preparation for dinner.

* * *

You're immediately glad the tie won the game, as you get your first glimpse of Cameron that night.

You feel quite like Jack from the movie Titanic (ok - bad metaphor from a really bad film the demon Stacy made you watch) as you watch Cameron descend the lobby stars for dinner that night because, DAMN, does she look good!

Your mind is wandering back to the night of the hospital benefit over a year ago, and how she completely thrust all coherent thought from your mind, because she looks just (if even more) as amazingly beautiful as she did that night. She's wearing a blue dress that would make any reasonable man drool like one of Pavlov's dogs, and you're wondering how you're going to get through the night and not make an ass out of yourself - you self consciously adjust your tie as she spies you and walks in your direction.

You search your head like a madman, trying to find some type of witty remark, or even a compliment, but end up staring at her like some catatonic, completely mute, moron. She stands there for a moment, giving you one of her secretive smiles (which also render your speechless) and leads the way to the hotel restaurant when she realizes you're not going to say anything.

Dinner, being equally as ackward as the one you shared so long ago, was filled mainly with comfortable banter about everything but the one thing you're trying to work up the balls to say to her.

It's only been a few days alone with her in Australia, but you can already feel the definite change in the air between the both of you. You're noticing how good it feels to have her there next to you in the lectures, how fun it is on the occasions she trades sarcastic banter with you, and how badly you want to kiss her whenever she leans over in the darkened lecture hall to slug you on the shoulder and tell you to pay attention. But mainly, how nice it is to have someone other than Wilson to talk to. You're almost certain it's not just yourself going crazy either.

It's there in the way that she looks at you when she meets you for breakfast in the mornings, or the way she slows herself down to walk with you on the few occasions you've left the hotel to tour the city with her. Could she too be thinking along the same lines as you are?

You know she used to have that idiotic crush on you when she started working for you three years ago, but figured the silly schoolgirl giggling would pass as quickly as it had come on. Who wants a relationship with an emotionally retarded, broken man? Not to mention one that was old enough to be her father??

You have admitted to yourself though, that you missed her more than you could ever admit. Wilson had pointed this out on many an occasion as he called Thirteen Cameron's "twin." You'd made sarcastic remarks about how you needed to replace the lobby art, and how you'd only hired her for her boobs, but you know it's not true. You're trying to replace (and find yourself longing for many an afternoon as you sit in your office with the blinds drawn) the puzzle that is Allison Cameron.

You make yourself a promise right then and there during the second course, that by the end of the night you're going to tell her how nice she looks … and hope the conversation continues in your favor.

* * *

You failed, of course.

You're both finishing up dessert over talk about the emergency department (and how Chase kept trying to desperately put in for transfer down there) when her eyes grow wide, and she nearly misses her mouth and pokes herself in the face with her fork.

"House, are you done? I think I'm ready to call it a night and get to bed because I'm suddenly not feeling so great…."

You scan her for signs of illness, but see nothing other than fear on her face. What you DO see however, is a young man in an Armani suit looking in your direction - the same man, you think, that lectured to the convention attendees this afternoon. Cameron is clearly uncomfortable, and you wonder who this man can be, as you watch her go white as a sheet, hands trembling.

"Allison?? Allison Cameron?" The man in the suit has walked over to your table, and sits himself down without even giving you a glance. You're almost sure this is the same guy from the lecture, and you decide here and now that whoever he is, he's a rude prick.

"Uhhhhhh ….. "

You never thought you'd see Cameron at a loss for words, but there's a first time for everything.

"Hello … Joe. Funny seeing you here after all these years."

Joe? You search your photographic memory for the name Joe in Cameron's personal files from the last time you looked.

"I know! Wow, Allie, it's been SO long. I had no idea that you were going to be here, though I had sure hoped sooner or later that I'd run into you."

He takes notice of you for the first time, and holds out his hand for you to shake, the cocky stare of youth (something you loathe) smacking you right in the face. You stare at his hand, and he withdraws it, looking at you like you should probably excuse yourself at any time.

"Are you here with family Allie? I know your grandfather practiced medicine … is this him?"

Cameron shoots you one of those smiles you love, clenches, and looks back at this "Joe." You however, are wondering what the laws are if you murder somebody in another country, because you've never wanted to pick up your butter knife and stab it so hard into somebody's jugular before.

"Actually, Joe, this is Dr. House."

Instant satisfaction.

The kid hears your name and the look that passes across his face is one that makes you think he's about to crap himself - the same look the new medical students at the hospital wear whenever your walk by.

"I did a three year internship with him at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital Joe, but now I head up their emergency department. Our boss has sent us down here to represent the hospital."

He sits down next to Cameron and puts his arm around her shoulders, and you can see by the look on her face that she too is contemplating murder, or at least punching him in the face and running away.

"Allie, how about we go over to the bar and get caught up with each other? I mean, it's been so long since Brian and all, you've probably got lots of things to tell me. Would you mind Dr. House, if I steal her away for awhile?"

Cameron's eyes are pleading at you to say anything to get her out of this, but against your better judgement, you nod your head and leave, telling Cameron that you'll see her later. You hear the faintest strains of her arguing with him as you walk away.

You'd like nothing more than to trail her for the rest of the night, but manage to convince yourself you've already blown your chance. You still worry though, because you can see this guy's motives as plain as day, written all over his face.

You also cannot forget Cameron's behavior. You remember clearly how she moved her chair closer to you at the table, when he arrived, and how she looked pretty worried. Something was definitely up. Brian. You know that name is the key, and you vaguely remember hearing it from Cameron, or someone else in regards to Cameron a long, long time ago.

* * *

It doesn't hit you until two o'clock in the morning, when you're woken out of a sound sleep by a loud noise out in the hallway. Brian! You remember the end of a case a couple of years ago, and a talk you'd had with Wilson at your house later that night, over copious amounts of alcohol. He'd told you all about a chat he'd had with Cameron in your office, and how she'd almost cheated on her husband Brian, with his best friend Joe while they were all in medical school together.

You turn on your bedside table lamp, and reach for the program of speakers at the convention. Wiping off the water residue from the ice melting in your glass of scotch (the program had been designated a coaster on day one of your arrival), you open it and look up the lecture you'd been at yesterday.

**"Presented by Dr. Joe Adams …"**

Bingo.

The man Cameron was with tonight, was none other than the one she'd come close to leaving her dying husband for. Of course, she'd pulled a typical Cameron and stayed with him … something you secretly did admire her for …. She was the exact opposite of Stacy.

Breaking you from your thoughts though, came a loud scream from the hallway. You hurriedly grab your t-shirt and add it to your already present pajama pants, grab your cane and hobble to the door. You step out into the hallway and are graced with the sight of a man running away quickly, and Cameron.

Who is lying unconscious on the hallway carpet.


	4. House: A Memory

**A/N: **Ok, I lied. I had a few hours break today from studying, and decided to finish the chapter I started during my break last night. I'm planning on pulling an all-nighter tomorrow, taking my next exam on Tuesday (neurology soooo not my best subject), and then I'll see about starting the next chapter then. Thank you to the few who took the time to review my last chapter - reviews mean a lot and keep me going! Enjoy!

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**Chapter 4 (House)**

"**Memories"**

The sight of Cameron lying in the hallway momentarily stuns you, and makes your heart pound with worry. You stand at your door for a few moments just looking at her, until sense hits your brain and you realize it's Cameron lying there, and your ass is kicked into gear.

You rush as quickly as you can to her side, and instinctively put two fingers to her carotid artery to determine if she's got a pulse. You're immediately glad, as you realize her pulse is going good and strong, and that by the look of it, she's coming to.

One quick sniff of the air confirms what you have suddenly began to suspect. Yes - Cameron was completely trashed … there was no other way of putting it.

"House? What … happened?"

You tell her to shut up and grab on to your arm, because there's no way in hell you can lift her up on your own. She staggers into a sitting position and just barely manages to stand, and collapses into your side, nearly pulling the both of you back down onto the hotel carpet. You're getting kind of worried, as she seems a bit too uncoordinated and out of it for it to be JUST alcohol.

Between you, Cameron's lackluster drunken effort, and your cane, you manage to lug Cameron the few feet to, and into your hotel room. Cameron staggers in, and collapses onto your bed with something that sounds like, "Just kill me now." You tell her you're going to get her something for her to drink of the non-booze sort, and something to ward off Mr. Hangover, who will surely be paying her a visit in the morning.

By the time you've gotten the mentioned pills and a bottle of the most expensive water you could find in the mini-bar (Cuddy's paying after all), Cameron has mustered up enough of her strength to sit on the end of the bed, which she's currently doing, head in hands, mumbling to herself.

You sit down next to her and hand her two aspirin, and an opened bottle of water. You watch as she puts the pills into her mouth, leans her head back with intention to wash them down. She cries out, and grabs the side of her head, and swears rather loudly, stunning you.

She stares at you, eyes wide, as you gently examine in the side of her head. You can't help by wince yourself as you notice a large knot forming on the side of her head, just above her ear. You limp back into the bathroom and return with a towel filled with ice from the small silver bucket the maid had left, and hand it to her.

"I must have hit my head on the wall when I passed out. I think I'm ok though, no concussion." She takes the cloth away from her head, hobbles over to the mirror hanging above a small table, and grimaces herself this time, quickly replacing the towel. You can't help but notice that she looks rather ashamed of herself, and more than embarrassed.

She sits back down next to you.

"I guess this is the part where I'm suppose to ask you if you want to talk about it … " You feel like king of the idiots and are half hoping she'll spill what's been eating at her the last few days, and half hope she'll just want to not talk and go to bed. You figure it was worth a shot to ask.

"You can ask all you want House, but that doesn't mean you're going to CARE … why bother?" She looks up at you, and quickly down again as she realizes your staring at her like you do at the whiteboard during a particularly hard case.

"You're right … I probably shouldn't care, and you've probably already convinced yourself that I don't. Everybody lies, you know. Just because I'm an ass doesn't mean I don't care, or at least am curious as to why you insist on beating yourself up over your "almost affair" with your husband's best friend while he was in the process of kicking it. That IS the same Joe, right?" You stand and walk a few feet away, because you're all too familiar with people's impulses to punch you when you say things like that to them.

You knew she'd look at you like that, but you weren't expecting her to get up in your face, looking rather angry.

"Wilson told you!! I should have known not to tell his best friend, especially knowing his best friend was YOU, anything!!"

She sits back down and once again puts her head back into her hands, as if it's keeping her from having to look you in the eye. You go and sit back down next to her on the bed tell her yes, Wilson told you.

"I suppose you also believed him. Poor pathetic Cameron - made of sunshine and rainbows and everything good in this world - who would NEVER cheat on her husband, especially one who was dying! I'm sure you thought I actually denied his advances."

You almost can't believe you're hearing this. It has to be some kind of dream, right?

"Everybody lies House, you said it yourself. I'm not, and never was an exception to that rule."

You start to tell her she doesn't have to explain, but she continues on.

"One week after Brian got his terminal diagnoses, our lives changed forever. One minute we were both in medical school, and the next minute we were being referred to hospice. It was sitting there in the hospice director's office that day, that I had the big realization. Once my husband was gone, that was it - I'd be alone. I was never close to my father and my mother always resented my decision to leave her and go off to medical school. My brothers have their own families, their own high powered careers and lives - getting together once a year was always a luxury I dared not dream of. I married so young I lost most of my friends … he and this life we always dreamed of making together were all that I had."

You just listen silently, nodding at her to continue as she wipes a few tears from her eyes.

"It happened so quickly. Joe was helping me go through some of Brian's things after he'd been admitted to the hospital with serious complications from his cancer. He'd developed pneumonia and his doctors told us based on his condition at the moment … to be ready, as it wouldn't be long. I'd been going through a box of our old photos from the last summer before his diagnoses - Brian looked so healthy, and we all looked so happy - and I lost it. I started to rip up the photos and most of Brian's belongings in a mad rage. I'd lost my family, I'd lost my once faith in God when I found out he was sick, and now I was losing my best friend. Joe grabbed my hand to stop my destruction and before I knew it, we were kissing, and we wound up in bed."

You watch her sigh heavily and continue, getting up to go and look out the window while she spoke.

"My husband was dying in the hospital, and I'd visit him during the days - I'd hold his hand, kiss him and tell him that I loved him. But nights? Those were Joe's, and I spent them in our bed with him."

She sits back down on the bed next to you.

"The night Brian died … I had told Joe that this couldn't go on. I'd left him and his advances in the hospital waiting room, sat down next to my husband, held his hand and told him that I loved him."

She's crying again, and you'd like to do something, but you don't.

"Do you know what his last words were to me House? He looked at me and said, "I know Allie. I know." He slipped into a coma and hours later he left his cancer riddled body behind. I later found out at his funeral that his mother had seen us together through the window on that very first time with Joe. She'd come to help me out, and she saw her daughter-in-law in her son's bed with another man. She looked at me with nothing but pure hate, and told me at the reception that she never wanted to look at me again. I haven't seen her since, and I haven't seen Joe either … until last night. The only constant has been the guilt I've carried with me since."

You're almost as shocked as she is, when you realize your hand has slipped into her hers, and is holding it tightly.

"And that's why you felt the need to go overboard with the alcohol tonight?" She nods and continues to hold onto your hand (you're secretly glad).

"After you left us at the restaurant last night, we went back to his room to talk. He tried to make a move on me, knowing very well how many gin and tonics I'd knocked back in his presence, and I resisted him. I left his room and he followed me down the hallway, saying horrible things to me - I knew I wanted it, Brian wouldn't care, it should have been him that married me - and he tried to kiss me again. I screamed at him to stop and he pushed me. I was already too drunk to keep myself on my feet, and when he pushed me I was just too unsteady to steady myself. I must have passed out after hitting my head. The coward ran off I suppose?"

You nod, and she begins to cry yet again.

* * *

You tell her you don't want her to be alone in case she has a concussion, but you know you've always been the world's biggest liar where Cameron is concerned.

You both sat next to each other under the covers of your king sized bed, and watched some corny chick flick on HBO until you realized that Cameron had fallen asleep, her head hanging into your shoulder. Figuring the two Vicodin you'd loaned her (in exchange for clinic hours once you got back of course - you couldn't let her think you'd gone that soft in the head) have knocked her out for the rest of the night, you put your arm around her, watching as she arranges herself to get comfortable. She wraps an arm around your waist and sighs with content.

You reach over and turn out the light, followed by the television, and settle down with Cameron still in your arms, to get some sleep yourself. You're about to drift off when you hear it.

"Thanks House."

You're glad you turned out all the lights so she couldn't see the smile you don on your face. Otherwise, you'd never hear the end of it in the morning.


	5. House: Descent

A/N: First of all, thanks to the NINE PEOPLE who took the time to review the last chapter I posted. There are 49 of you with this story on alert, and I'd LOVE it if you could give me a shout out if you're enjoying this story. It doesn't have to be much more than a "great!" but I'd like to know (I'm not going to be one of those writers that won't post the next chapter until a certain amount of reviews, don't worry)!! Anywho, here's the next chapter . Sorry for the cliffhanger, but there's at least 20 more chapters coming with lots more House and Cameron. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5 (House)**

**"Descent"**

You made sure on the morning following "the incident" (as you like to call it) that you snuck out as quietly as possible from your hotel room. Even though you had never slept better than you did with Cameron in your arms, you think you'd rather have another infarction than let Cameron engage you in "talk" about what had gone down … or more so, the fact that you'd actually let your emotions hang out for all to see.

You did make sure however, to leave the bottle of aspirin sitting out and a note to let Cameron know you were going to the lecture, and even though the temptation was going to be tremendous, you promise to refrain from giving Mr. Adams a cerebral hemorrhage with your cane.

You do wonder though, as you sit your butt down in the back of the lecture hall, if aliens had snuck into your room last night and given you some type of brain transplant? There's got to be some good reason you're sitting there with Cameron's laptop on the small table attached to your chair, taking notes on the lecture for her. Especially while Cameron is lying in YOUR bed with a hangover.

But then you find a replay of last nights events going through your head, and how nice it really had been to show you really care about her … and you decide, as you madly take notes, that you wouldn't change a thing.

* * *

"If you ever say that I'm unkind and a total jackass ever again, you totally owe me."

You toss Cameron's laptop down on her bed, then follow it by throwing yourself across it. She looks at you like she has NO idea what you're talking about.

"They ramble that shit on and on so fast that you can barely keep up typing, and they act like we're actually suppose to CARE about their new findings!"

"Uhhhh House, you ARE suppose to care. It's kind of the job requirement." She looks at you incredulously as she flips open her laptop and spies the folder full of notes you've taken all morning long. She looks at you and runs her fingers through her hair, then returns to gripping the water bottle in her hand, like it's her only lifeline to a world that makes sense. You KNOW she's fighting herself mentally (you can practically see her brain clenching), and wants to say something about you taking notes, and what happened last night.

You surprise yourself again, as you finally grow a set of balls.

"I do, Cameron. I care. I just want you to know that. Can we leave it at that before you turn into Dr. Phil and engage me in a round of soul searching? Leave it at that and we can go on being friends."

The look of shock on her hung-over face is actually kind of amusing to you.

"Friends?? Are you sure?"

You won't admit just yet that you'd like to be more than friends, and this feeling has been a long time coming (and send skippy the kangaroo packing, of course) , but you're going to take what you can get.

"Yes. Friends … even if Wilson will be extremely jealous that he's no longer going to be number one!"

You're silenced as Cameron throws herself at you in a hug.

"Ok. Ok. Let's not get carried away. I expect you to cover lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, report to my office to watch general hospital during said lunch, and show up with beer on Saturday nights. Just a few small pre-requisites for friendship with me."

She rolls her eyes and slugs you on the shoulder, laughing as you feign hurt.

* * *

"HOUSE - COME ON!! I highly doubt that you want to stay here in Sydney any longer than necessary, so get a move on!!"

You're really re-thinking the whole friendship thing if she's going to act like mother hen all the time. You roll back over with your head in your pillow (at least you're dressed), and groan loud enough in hopes that she will hear you through your newly unlocked door separating your hotel rooms. The week has finally ended and you just want to relax!

Having no problem doing so, you watch through one opened eye as Cameron strolls into your room and gives the bed a forceful kick. She walks over to your pile of stuff on your dresser (which you did a half ass job of folding last night), and with one sweep, it's all in your suitcase. She does the same with the items you'd left in the bathroom and loudly tells you that if you're not up in a minute, she's going to pour cold water all over you.

You ignore her.

"Up, House, or I might accidentally sweep your Vicodin supply into the toilet … without the protection of the bottle."

She smiles as you're up in half a second, and in the bathroom to save your precious white babies from a wet, bacterial laden death.

* * *

Two hours later, after passing through customs and buying an obscene amount of magazines and candy from the duty-free shop, you're nursing a cup of coffee and sitting in your airline seats for the long trip back to New Jersey. Just thinking about the layover in Tokyo and the one in London is enough to make you fall asleep right here and now. The week has been stressful, but you know it's nothing a week of torturing the team, sleeping in the clinic and making jokes about Cuddy's cleavage can't fix.

There's also the newfound friendship between you and Cameron to consider - the thought of spending more time with her is a bright enough spot in your typically mundane life to make you smile right here and now.

As the plane engines roar, and the plane charges down the runway, you sigh contentedly and fall into a nice, alcohol free slumber.

"House."

You decide to let the plane's turbulence lull you back to sleep and ignore Cameron.

"House!!"

The urgency in her voice gives you enough energy to break out of your lethargic state and answer.

"Cameron, either Evangeline Lilly has just sat down next to me, or the plane is going down. Those are the only two excuses I will take for opening my eyes right now. Wait, three excuses … tell me you've always fancied joining the mile high club?"

"The second excuse."

You open your eyes to see if she's merely trying to get your attention, or actually telling the truth. You don't notice her though, what you see is the stewardess rushing back to the front of the plane, a panic stricken look upon her face.

Oh shit.

"I'm sure everything is fine … " you say to Cameron. The shaking you thought was turbulence is telling you a different story, as it doesn't feel the same (and you've been on enough planes in your life to tell). "Jack Shepard will be around to save us at any moment and we'll avoid the island and the others and land in Tokyo in once piece … don't clench your pretty little head off."

You ignore the fact that a second stewardess has just hurried down the aisle towards the cockpit with tears in her eyes, and try to give Cameron a reassuring look.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Gale. Some of you might have noticed us losing a bit of altitude, but I'm here to reassure you it's going to be fine. We've lost one of our engines and have adjusted our course by a few miles to avoid rough air, and will be continuing on as normal. Our Boeing 747 aircraft is able to stay in the air with three engines, and we feel we can make it to …… "

The violent beeping is hard to ignore, as it and a voice you assume to be the co-pilot's shouts loudly that "We've lost another, and other systems are having issues," in the background.

The speaker goes dead and you hear a few people yell from the downstairs coach area of the plane. Your stomach almost makes its exit through your esophagus as the plane makes a sickening lurch to the left. You and Cameron both stifle a scream, but you needn't worry, as there are many already echoing through the plane.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've lost a second engine, and will be returning to Sydney immediately."

You've always been good at reading people, and you can tell from his voice that he's scared shitless.

"The aircraft controls seem to be dropping one by one, but we don't think we should have a problem making it back to the mainland. We ask at this time that you reacquaint yourself with the airplane's emergency manuals, locate your closest emergency exit in case, and stay buckled into your seats."

"House, he sounds much more worried than that for a simple mechanical problem."

She looks out the windows, then back at you, eyes telling you that you're not the only person that can read emotion in a voice. You pat your pocket and show Cameron you've got Vicodin in your bottle, and tell her that things will be "just fine."

Your lame attempt at a joke, even though you are clearly scared, fails as she gives you an incredulous look and continues to watch the faces of the cabin crew like a hawk, looking for a telltale update in status.

You calm your nerves by sending a text message to Wilson on your phone.

_**"Plane's going down. Tell Dr. Funbags to cancel next week's clinic duty. Love, Your Favorite Jackass."**_

The plane starts to suddenly lose altitude at an alarming pace, and begins to shake and sway back and forth. You hear cries and screams as the oxygen masks fall from the overhead compartments.

You and Cameron hastily put them on, and one glance next to you reveals Cameron breathing heavily, as if launching herself into a full fledged panic attack is the only way to go, and you think she may have the right idea. This has gotten too scary for your liking - you knew you were going to die one day, but this was not the way you'd always imagined it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please keep your safety belts fastened and assume the crash position."

You hear a prayer being recited over the loudspeaker, and realize the whole life flashing before your eyes spiel was nothing but bullshit. You didn't think a thing about your childhood, or your family … you can't think of anything but what is happening, and your thoughts of hope towards a quick and deadly impact (you just want to get it over with).

Before assuming the crash position, you look over at Cameron once more. She gives you the most terrified look you've ever seen, as you grab her trembling hand.

Outside the small plane window, the ocean is rapidly approaching, and you wonder if this is it?


	6. Wilson: Crash

**A/N: **Not the longest chapter, but I'll have another one up this weekend. Yes, another nasty cliffhanger, I know! Thank you to everyone for taking the time to review the last chapter and let me know you like the story and where I'm taking it (keep it up!). Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 6 (Wilson)**

"**Crash"**

Thanks to House and his lame text message, you'd had the most horrible dream imaginable this morning. You'd tossed and turned for hours, dreaming of twisted steel and dead bodies. You'd been out swimming when the decomposing individuals began to float by you, rocking in the waves of the tranquil, blue, South Pacific waters. It hadn't seemed to bother you, until you realized that two of those bodies belonged to House and Cameron.

You awoke in a sweat, heart racing, but managed to calm yourself down. Just a dream - yes, it felt so real, but just a dream. Getting up to avoid anymore dreams of the sort, you showered and just went off to work.

* * *

It didn't take you long to realize you missed House distracting you, as the third little kid of the morning managed to throw up on you in the clinic. You'd of given anything to have him pull you aside, make you pay for lunch, and watch tv right about now, but that was going to have to wait a few more hours. House and Cameron would arrive in New York late tomorrow morning, where you'd be waiting.

Truth be told you were glad you'd be getting your friend back.

Settling down into your office chair, after changing clothes for the third time, you decided diving headfirst into the massive pile charting was the way to pass the time. Later, you'd make plans with Amber in hopes that a night out would make her more willing to let you spend the weekend slumming around with House.

You had just touched your pen to paper when your pager began to beep.

**"911, Oncology Lounge - Cuddy"**

Sighing, you drop your pen, grab your lab coat and walk down the hall to find out why there is an emergency in the lounge of all places. As you walk down the hall, employees are giving you strange looks and stares, but you ignore them and arrive at the lounge.

You stop dead in your tracks as you open the door.

The television is on, and sequestered in front of it are Cuddy, Chase, Foreman and the rest of House's team. Most of them with their hands at their mouths, looks of horror on their faces. Cuddy is sitting on the couch, tears streaming down her face, and you're wondering what the hell is going on?

You were going to ask what was wrong, but you instead catch sight of the television screen, your own jaw dropping in disbelief.

"Breaking News" is flashing across the screen, with details scrolling at the bottom. A sullen looking news reporter speaks:

"ABC news, breaking report out of Australia. An Air Australia 747 aircraft carrying several hundred passengers, many of them American citizens, has made impact several hundred miles after leaving the airport in Sydney. Information is still coming in to our news stations via Australia, and a press conference with the Federal Aviation Administration is being planned. We will televise the statement, live, shortly."

"James …." Cuddy stands up and moves closer to you, a sympathetic look on her face, a sympathetic hand on your shoulder.

"It's not them."

"James. They said the flight number … I booked it myself."

You sit down on the couch, and stare at the television set.

You're still sitting there an hour later, House's team and Cuddy still surrounding you, as the Federal Aviation Administration begins their breaking news conference.

You're not sure if you want to hear this, and turn around to leave.

Surprised as hell, you find what appears to be half of the hospital staff in the room behind you. No room to move, you sit back down on the couch to listen.

"At noon, Australian time, a Boeing 747 aircraft en-route to New York's JFK airport made an emergency call back to the airport in Sydney. Aircraft control was unable to hear the details, and the plane lost its signal and dropped off radar shortly after. Harsh weather delayed the search efforts by a few hours, but once Australian investigators reached the scene, they found complete wreckage … "

There are gasps throughout the lounge as a video of the crash scene - huge pieces of the aircraft are floating aimlessly in the ocean - appears on the television screen.

"Officials are searching the area in the hopes of finding survivors, but based on the wreckage and the amount of bodies we have recovered so far, it has become a recovery mission. American officials are reviewing the black box information, which has been retrieved, and we will continue to update our website with more information, as well as the names of the victims who have been recovered and identified. Family members with loved ones on the flight may call the following number. Thank you."

The silence in the room is too much for your to bear, so you get up and walk into your office, slamming the door behind you. Sitting back down at your desk, you return your efforts to your charting, ignoring Cuddy as she walks in and sits down at your couch, asking you if you want to talk about it.

You say nothing for a moment, then look up at Cuddy.

"They're alive. They have to be."

"James," she says, as she looks at you sadly, "be realistic. You saw the crash sight, you saw the wreckage. It's horrible, and God knows I feel guilty for sending them in the first place when they didn't want to go, but we have to be realistic. I'm going to give House and Cameron's families a call, then I'll come back to see you, ok?"

You just nod, saying nothing, and go back to your charting.

* * *

At four o'clock in the morning, Cuddy returns, finding you sitting in your office.

The sun has long gone down since you entered your office, and you've not bothered to turn on any lights. There is one, however, belonging to your computer screen. The same light illuminates the hope that has grown on your face, as you sit there staring at the screen.

Cuddy comes to stand behind you, and looks at the screen, questioning what you're looking at. You show her that the FAA Website has been updated with the names of the victims that have been found and identified. She pulls a chair around to your side of the desk and sits down next to you.

Three hundred and twenty names are listed as recovered.

You scroll down the page to a second list, and watch as Cuddy puts her hand in front of her mouth, stifling a gasp. In the category listed as "un-recovered" there are only two names:

**Dr. Allison Cameron (Princeton, New Jersey, USA)**

**Dr. Gregory House (Princeton, New Jersey, USA)**


	7. Cameron: Burn

**A/N: **The response for this fic has been outrageous - thank you all again, keep it up! I struggled a little bit writing this chapter, trying to make it realistic, but I had to stop and realize it's FICTION and not everything you read is going to be plausible - remember that as you read, haha. I did quiz my aircraft obsessed brother, however, and he told me there ARE certain areas on a plane to consider sitting in … in the case of an emergency your odds are better! If it can happen on LOST, it can happen in my story! Anyway, another cliffhanger, but enjoy XD. Also, if you don't realize, the italics are flashbacks. Next chapter is almost done, and will be up in a few days.

* * *

**Chapter 7 (Cameron)**

"**Burn"**

I knew I wasn't dead as soon as I heard it.

I kept my eyes closed, but I could hear the rhythmic sound of the ocean waves lapping at the shore, the birds chirping and feel the cold ocean breeze blowing onto shore. No, I wasn't dead, but right now? I really wished I was.

I can't remember how long ago it had happened, but it hardly matters. The memories are fresh in my head and in the sheer chance I make it out alive from this second obstacle - post traumatic stress disorder might as well be a given for the rest of my life.

"_Cameron, I promise you we're going to find a way out of this."_

"_You're not a psychic House, and as often as you like to try, you can't always stop death when it's coming for you."_

But he had stopped death.

By what can only be called a miracle, House had saved me … US. There was complete madness going on in the plane after the pilot had made his last announcement, and we were left with nothing to do but wait, and listen to the sound of three hundred people realizing they were going to die. Nothing to do but wait for the plane to stop gliding and realize it had no power, and wait for death. House had insisted that we stay on the upper level for some unknown reason, and from that point on, I pretty much gave up on trying to figure a way out of it, and would let him play God.

I watched as he pawed through the overhead compartments, and that look eventually turned to one of horror as the loud sound of screaming and breaking metal echoed throughout the plane. As if fate wasn't horrific enough, a loud explosion sounded, and we were both thrown sideways with extreme force.

It took about half a second to realize the front of the plane had been completely separated from the rear, and we were now on a fast, perilous dive to the ocean below.

Of course, we both remained conscious - a sick joke perhaps, on behalf of the God I didn't believe in?

The two lone passengers that had remained on our upper level had been sucked over the edge of the split fuselage, and hurled into the sky before I could think quick enough to grab them. Their fearful looks enough to make me want to throw myself over the edge and just get it over with.

I didn't get that chance though, because House grabbed my arm in one hand, and a large yellow object in another. Holding on to the remaining seats of the plane, we crawled towards the jagged opening made by the explosion, holding on for dear life, the whistling and screaming of the air loud in our ears.

With some difficulty, he held on and before my eyes the large yellow object inflated into a life raft.

"_Cameron, we've got to jump."_

"_ARE YOU CRAZY HOUSE?"_

_The plane made another sharp lurch to the left, and continued to fall at an alarming pace._

"_No House, we're not going to make it. This is absurd," I screamed, "We're suppose to die like the rest of them."_

"_Cameron, what have we got to lose? We've made it this far and we're STILL ALIVE!"_

"_Ok."_

The remaining part of the plane cut through another cloud bank, and it became apparent that the end - whatever the outcome - was very near. Below, the ocean was coming nearer.

"_Cameron, climb into the raft and hold on to the ropes around the edge. On the count of three, I'm going to grab them and push us over the edge. With any luck, we'll free fall, and the raft will break some of the fall as we hit the water."_

"_Ok House."_

"_Ready? One …"_

"_House?"_

"_What??"_

"_I didn't really want to quit and I really do miss you."_

"_I know Cameron, and you know what? It WAS a date. I'm a fool. ONE, TWO, THREE …."_

He was right … it worked.

The force of the wind had tried to throw us both out and away from the raft, but with all my willpower I'd remained in in, holding on tight. House had managed to hold on as well, and position himself above the raft and we free-fell the last five hundred or so feet to the water below.

The raft hit the water with a loud crack, and a second later so did the front of the fuselage, some hundred yards away from us. It hit the water with an even greater force, and disappeared below the surface.

We were alive.

* * *

But we were no longer together.

An hour of floating in silence, and the storm that had been covering us with a light drizzle, turned into a downpour. Forty or so foot waves slammed into the small yellow raft and nearly sent us toppling overboard.

"Of COURSE there'd be a storm!" House had yelled, "It's not like day could have gotten any worse."

I'd clung to him as he held on to the raft for dear life, but it had been too much. A large wave had thrown me over the side, and before I could grab hold again, it had swept me off. The last glimpse I had of House had been of him holding on, then getting swept over himself.

Through the sound of the wind and waves, the only thing I could hear were the faint sounds of him screaming my name repeatedly.

Thankfully wearing a lifejacket, I'd let the massive waves carry me where they liked, knowing all too well if I fought them I'd tire quickly and drown.

I must have drifted over the waves for more than an hour when I realized the rain had begun to slacken, and the sound of the howling wind was growing fainter. A lone gull swooped down from the sky, and it was at that moment the sun poked its way through the clouds, and I saw it.

An island.

A large mountain and an array of palm trees poked their heads up through a blanket of fog some three hundred yards away. Mustering up energy from my pain ridden body, I began to swim. I must have swum a good two hundred yards when I felt the ocean floor beneath my feet. I stood up on shaky limbs and staggered towards the shore, eventually collapsing into the white sand.

This had been my last memory.

* * *

Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I cracked open my eyes, immediately bringing my hand to my head to shield my eyes from the bright sun shining down upon me. I must have slept through the rest of the day, and through the night.

I was still exhausted.

I sat up gingerly and winced at the pain that shot through my head. Concussion, most likely, but I'd woken up so nothing too serious. Testing my legs, I found I could stand up, albeit a sharp pain radiating through my left leg. I must have been the luckiest bitch in the world, because other than a concussion … I seemed to be okay.

I had a sudden realization, however.

"HOUSE!!"

I began to yell (ok, scream) his name, and stagger down the shore.

The scientist in me was thinking the obvious. The current had taken me here, so he had to be here too, right? I couldn't imagine fate being so cruel as to leave me and ONLY me stuck here.

But fate WAS that cruel.

I walked and walked until the pain in my leg grew too intense to bear, screaming for House. I finally broke down and collapsed into the sand, crying hysterically. For House, but for the fact that I realized exactly what type of predicament I was now in.

I was alone … completely alone.

I must have fallen asleep again, because the next time I awoke the sun was going down on the horizon, night quickly approaching. I just sat there, watching the sun sink slowly, when a rustling sound filled my ears.

I stood up and moved away from the forest edge, and closer to the water. I was about a second from fleeing down the shore in fear, when I heard it again. A rustling, growing closer.

Suddenly, the bushes were thrust aside, and the only thing I could do was scream loudly.


	8. House: Stranded

**A/N:** Ok, I had originally planned to have this up by Tuesday at the latest, but things got kind of carried away with school and I couldn't pull myself away from my studying (for those who do not know, I am completing pre-med along with my classes towards my undergrad degree in anthropology – aka I have no life) and the hours I had to work with a human cadaver for my final exam. Hence … a shorter chapter tonight. More coming this weekend though, as I'll have the time!

I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I guess it's better than NOT updating, right? The bit about the plane is actually taken from a real speech my brother felt need to give me on a flight from NY to London, and it scared me just as much. Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I constantly am amazed at the number of reviews I've been getting - all of them positive. Keep them coming!

* * *

**Chapter 8 (House)**

"**Stranded"**

"I bet you thought I was a polar bear, huh?"

Your idea of a joke backfires on you, as a loud scream echoes throughout the island, and you're knocked flat on your ass into the sand by Cameron, who has launched herself at you full force (knocking the wind out of your lungs in the process).

Her arms wrap around you so tight you think you're going to stop breathing, and she begins to sob hysterically.

As if you haven't had enough surprises already, you find your emotions have one more in store for you. You find yourself unable to control said emotions, and sure enough – you find yourself crying right along with Cameron. You figure you've been through too much to remain in character, and decide to give your conscious (which is screaming at you to be a man and stop the waterworks) a loud "fuck you."

* * *

It had been horrific enough to realize the plane had exploded and separated, but you somehow managed to ignore the screams of those who were surely fighting the grim reaper, and focus on getting yourself, and Cameron, out of this mess alive. While the plane had been in the air, you had begun to formulate a plan. Knowing it was the impact of the plane to the ocean surface that would be the one thing that would kill you, you put your brain to work, trying desperately to find a way to cushion the fall.

It was the stewardess pawing through the emergency supply cabinet that had saved you.

You don't know what she was looking for, but in the process of her searching she knocked two things down into the aisle of the plane. The first was one of those idiotic hats you only see tourists wearing as they tour the outback in Australia (Chase had come home from vacation with one and you'd made fun of him for months) … tourists and Harrison Ford in the –

That's when it hit you.

The idea, and the large yellow object with the words "EMERGENCY LIFERAFT" written across its rubber surface. You'd grabbed the life raft (and the bottle of vicodin you'd had stashed in your backpack) and returned to sit with a now hysterical Cameron.

Within moments, the remaining passengers had fled the upper deck to the downstairs section of the plane, and not a moment later, that's when the explosion had occurred. Thanking a deity you didn't think you even believed in, you set your plan in motion.

As you crawl towards the severed area of the fuselage, you realize you have your father to thank as well, if you somehow make it out alive. It'd been on one of your many moves across the country that he'd explained it.

Only six years old at the time, he'd been joking the entire way to Germany about the plane going down and what you would do in the case of this type of emergency (just to scare you, you suspect). When you'd been properly scared out of your wits (and had tucked yourself under the protective arm of your mother), he finally had apologized. He explained to you that if the plane DID go down, you'd have a better shot than the rest of the passengers anyway, so not to worry that much.

_"A plane's gas tank is located near the wing. It explodes and the plane is going to split in two. Those on the bottom level, mid plane, will be killed instantly. The ones in the back of the plane, those in the very front, and the ones traveling above the explosion will have the best chance at coming out of a crash alive … all that's left is fending off the sharks and death by drowning afterwards."_

Your mother had told him to shut up at that point, as he'd succeeded in making you cry.

But, it HAD been true. Your father's words had echoed through your head, and it was those words that kept telling you to keep yourself and Cameron on the top level of the plane. You'd been separated by a storm, but had both arrived on the same island … alive (not to mention if you did make it out alive, the Indiana Jones maneuver would earn you serious points on the awesome scale).

* * *

"Are you hurt?"

You pull yourself away from your thoughts and somehow manage to detach Cameron from around your waist, where she's currently cutting off your circulation in embrace. You give her the once over. She's covered with cuts and newly forming bruises, but she looks alright.

"A concussion – my head feels like a train ran into it at top speed, but I think it's only low grade. I did something to my knee too, but I can still walk. Are YOU okay?"

You don't want her to worry about you (ok, you know she will regardless), and despite the little voice in your head telling you to tell her you're fine, you roll up the leg of your pants. She looks at you in horror as the twenty inch laceration, running from your knee towards your waist, shows its ugly face on your bad leg.

"House," she says, looking up at you, worry written all over her face, "this is bad."

"Thank you Cameron. Just so you know, I went to medical school too."

Sarcasm you can attempt, but you know it won't worry for long. You want more than anything to tell her that it'll be okay – you'll both find a way to get yourselves off the island – but that voice in your head is telling you again to be a realist. Baring the miraculous appearance of Dr. Jack and the others – and a few syringes full of antibiotics – you need to be found, and you need it to happen FAST. You've stopped the flow of blood from your leg now (with Cameron's belt), but you know it's going to need stitches … a lot of stitches, seventy at minimum.

You know you can probably wait a few days on sewing up the wound, but you know there's something coming that carries a time clock. If you aren't found, that clock will run out in the period of about two weeks, and your worst enemy will begin to show its face.

Septicemia

It's also at this realization that you remember something else. Something else that you really wish you never had to consider.

Cameron watches as you reach your hand into your now filthy, tattered jacket pocket, and pull out a single Vicodin bottle (the second one you remember carrying is nowhere to be seen). You ease yourself down, and sit in the sand. You open the lid, and tip out five pills, and swear so loudly Cameron jumps away from you in shock.

Detox

You really wish at this moment, that you would have actually gone through the rehab program that time Tritter was hounding your ass. You wish you'd listened to Wilson the countless times he'd tried to get you to give up the pills and adopt another drug in place of the narcotics. You wish you'd never met Stacy, because you wouldn't have needed the damn pills in the first place (or so you still like to imagine).

You wish a lot of things, but know a fairy godmother will not be appearing to grant those wishes anytime soon.

You look down and find that Cameron has placed her hand in yours, squeezing it tightly. Despite the negative thought tirade you've just had with the little voice in your head, you're glad for one thing.

Cameron

You don't know if you're going to be able to pull of a second miracle, or if life on the island is simply the beginning of forever, but you do know one thing.

It's a hell of a lot easier to face that forever when you're not alone.


	9. Cameron: The First Night

**A/N:** I could only take the monotony of studying quietly for so long. I caved and made this way longer than I had originally intended. Good news is that after this Thursday, my summer vacation starts and I'll have all the time in the world to write! I am constantly surprised at the positive feedback to this story, and once again I thank everyone who has put it on alert, and everyone who has taken the time to leave me a review. Keep them coming!

* * *

**Chapter 9 (Cameron)**

"**The First Night"**

I couldn't sleep. I didn't even question my lack of fatigue, because how could anybody in their right mind calm themselves enough to sleep after going through something of this nature?

I sat up for awhile, watching House snore away, but abandoned that idea and walked closer to the water, and sat down.

* * *

About ten minutes into our tearful reunification, the harsh reality of the current situation had set in. House's injuries were far worse than mine, and for a good minute or so, the extreme outcomes of this predicament played through my memory.

The only thing I could do, was picture House lying dead on the shore, his pale skin whiter than the sand, his pupils fixed in death.

"Earth to Cameron?"

"House, we're going to die here. You're going to become ravaged by blood poisoning, and once you die, I'll be left to live on coconuts until the day comes when I die from malnourishment."

He stared at me, and I couldn't help but wonder if that was an actual smirk forming on his face.

"DON'T LAUGH! Nobody is going to find our dead bodies and we'll rot here until we decompose into the islands soil, or are carried off in pieces by some wild animal!!" I was getting pretty hysterical, but I couldn't help the anger that began growing inside of me. "Nobody is going to find us, and do you know why?"

He just smiled at me.

"BECAUSE WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE, GOD KNOWS HOW MANY MILES AWAY FROM THE PLANE'S ORIGINAL COURSE! IF THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF FOREVER, AND WHAT IS SUPPOSE TO BE MY FATE … JUST KILL ME NOW!"

I screamed the last bit and sat down forcefully on the shore, and buried my face in my hands.

"Wow Cameron! I never pegged you for such an optimist!"

I looked up to meet his gaze, a sarcastic grin on his face.

"If you're done spreading cheer, maybe you'd like to help me collect the fifteen or so suitcases and bags that are currently washing their way onto the shore?"

He pointed behind me, and I turned to see what he was talking about, completely surprised.

"You know, shelter, a signal fire and food might not be a bad idea either."

I smiled at him, briefly forgetting my tirade, as he held out a hand to me. I stood, and helped him hobble down the shore with me, and we began to collect that bags that must have followed the same current that brought us both to the island.

To my astonishment, one of the suitcases was my own.

House watched as I went through the large suitcase, pulling out the clothes I'd taken with me (I tossed them aside, and planned to go through them later), ransacking the items to find what I knew was inside.

"I have to say I like how you think," he said, smiling as I showed him the prize I'd been searching for.

"It's not for a game of 'I Never' House." I ripped the seal off the giant, duty free bottle of Jack Daniels that had been nestled in my clothing (a gift for a colleague), "Pour it over your leg, and give me a few minutes to find the other thing I know is in here."

He looked at me like I'd gone insane.

"Stop being such a baby House. You want optimism? Well, grow some balls and pour some of it over that laceration so you don't die from blood poisoning!"

"Geez, you don't have to get pushy Cameron."

I watched as House counted to three, and poured the amber colored liquid over the wound, and tried not to grimace myself as House's face took on an expression of immense pain. I know it had to have been excruciating, but the other alternative was something I did not want to face.

When he was done swearing and screaming in what he told me later was pure agony, I used a clean shirt of mine to wipe away the alcohol that had fallen out of the wound.

"Hand me that makeup kit House, please?" I made notion to the item lying a foot away, having been kicked aside by House during his swearing and yelling.

I noticed him look at me questioningly, and pick up the large zippered bag emblazoned with sparkly letter A's. He opened it and handed it to me. I took out my birth control pills and tossed them aside, and continued to look for the item that I knew was in there.

"Hey, hang on to those pills. We might need them if we get bored!"

I tried to glare, but failed, as he waggled his eyebrows at me in a suggestive manner.

"Keep dreaming House." I pulled out the small package I had been looking for.

Twenty minutes later, thanks to the six tubes of superglue in a package I'd purchased upon arriving in Sydney (in case I broke one of my newly manicured nails), House's wound was now sterilized, sealed as best as possible with the glue, and bandaged tightly in one of my flowered sundresses.

We'd next gone through all the bags we had found on the beach, and took stock of the findings.

Plenty of clothes, I was happy to see we had, but there was quite a bit more. In addition to the clothes, there were ten extra large bottles of water, still encased in a package, which I assumed came from the airplane's galley. There were also two large bags of hard candy, a handful of power bars, a small first aid kit, a magnetic checkerboard set, a sopping wet copy of The Swiss Family Robinson (irony at its finest, House and I both agreed), ten pairs of tennis shoes, a set of high heels, a baseball, a cracked Oasis compact disc, a package of condoms (which I hid from House after a barrage of sexual harassment), and strangely enough a leather crop (House said there must have been a porn star on board) among many other little items.

The two most important items however, brought immediate relief to my face. The first was a Zippo brand lighter, emblazoned with a bright green shamrock, and the second a three quarter full bottle of penicillin, issued to a Mr. Pace from a clinic in Sydney. House had already begun to take them, at my insistence.

After arranging the supplies, I'd managed to erect a half assed shelter on the beach, with some palm leaves, large rocks, branches from fallen trees and the tarp that lined the inside of the life raft that I'd traveled to the island in.

House, who was now using a large branch as a makeshift cane, had waited for me to bring several piles of branches and palm leaves out of the jungle's edge (it took me seven trips), and was now leaning over them with the lighter we'd found.

As night had come on quickly, it was very noticeable as the steady flame of the lighter took to the kindling, and set the entire pile of debris ablaze.

"I, HAVE MADE FIRE!!" House chanted loudly, in what I can only assume was a 'Castaway' Tom Hanks impersonation.

"No, the Zippo company made fire," I said, smirking at him.

"Killjoy," he said, making a face at me.

I crawled under the tent and told him I was going to get some sleep, and that we'd start phase two of trying to survive tomorrow because my head was killing me.

He crawled right in after me, and in a surprising gesture, he took one of his remaining Vicodin and split it in half. He handed me a piece and a bottle of the water we'd acquired.

"House, save it for yourself," I began to say.

"Cameron, shut up and take the damn pill."

I did, and I put my aching head down onto my makeshift pillow (which was made of clothes bundled together with shoelaces), and tried to fall asleep. It took about five minutes for House's rhythmic snoring to echo in our makeshift shelter, letting me know he was out like a light. I sighed, and tried for twenty more minutes to sleep, and failed miserably.

I got up and walked down to the water's edge, and sat down into the sand.

* * *

That's where I was, about two hours later.

The moon had reached its high point in the late night sky, and the effect as it shone down on the midnight blue waters was beautiful. A nighttime gale blew softly in from the water, and the smell of the salty sea air brought a calming factor over me. My own personal hell, and yet I found something quite breathtaking about it.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

I closed my eyes as I felt House's hand on my shoulder. He eased himself down into the sand beside me, and said nothing for a few minutes, looking at me in thought.

"When I was seven, my father was stationed down in New Zealand. I'd hated moving again for the third time in two years, but I always loved that we had a house by the ocean this time."

He looked up at the sky.

"To get away from my father some nights, I'd pack myself a bag and go down to the beach and lie on my back in the sand. I'd watch the stars come out, and not go back until the moon had made its high point in the sky. Sometimes, I wouldn't go back until morning … it looked a lot like this."

I watched in amazement as a look of fond remembrance passed across his facial features.

"It was the only place we moved that I ever really loved."

He cleared his throat suddenly, and that look left his face as quickly as it had come on.

"Let's go back to bed, okay? We can't play Tarzan and Jane tomorrow on no sleep."

I nodded and stood, offering a hand to help him up. He took it, stood, and we walked slowly back to the shelter.

Lying down, I closed my eyes and kept trying to convince my weary body that it was time to sleep. The only thing I managed to do though, was turn my brain on full force. I sniffed, and quietly brushed away the lone tear that began to trail down my cheek. I kept thinking about home, and the people we'd left behind. I kept wondering if they were even looking for us, or had they given up upon seeing the devastation of the crash site?

"They'll find us Cameron. You know Wilson and Cuddy – all of them – won't give up … they won't."

I tried not to jump in shock as I felt House's arm snake its way around my waist, pulling me closer to him. The last thing I heard as I finally drifted off to sleep, was House whispering in my ear.

"Don't lose hope."


	10. House: Detox

**A/N:** Going to be a short one tonight! I meant to have this up on Thursday night, but upon finishing school I found I needed about two days to catch up on sleep from all the all-nighters I'd pulled this semester. I passed all of my classes, and walked out of this semester with a 3.8 GPA, something I wasn't counting on as I had the biology class from hell. The good news is, I'm all caught up on sleep and severely doped up on Vicodin (I feel like House, only it's my bad back, not my leg) so the creative thoughts are flowing! I'll have another chapter up early in the week! Thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter, and all 100+ of you who have this story on alert. Keep the reviews coming! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10 (House)**

"**Detox"**

Your Vicodin lasts you until day number six on the island.

You had been cutting the remaining pills in half at first, then quarters, but the inevitable you were dreading had arrived. It wasn't so bad at first, since you had a hefty enough dosage from the past week roaring through your system. You began to hope your rescue would come in time, and that you could avoid the misery sure to come. Cameron however, told you to prepare yourself.

You know she's right. You know it's going to be bad, and no amount of positive thought is going to make it any better. There's not going to be a magic orderly to bribe, and no pills to ease your sorrows. You'll have nothing to do by face your demons, and that thought alone scares the hell out of you.

You wake up on day seven thinking the rain from outside has saturated your shelter, and that's why your clothes are completely soaked, and you're freezing your ass off. You wish it were that easy of a situation though, as you realize the tent is completely dry, and it was YOU that sweat so much you soaked your clothes completely through. Your hands are shaking as you push yourself up into sitting position, but you immediately lie back down as vertigo overtakes your body, and your world spins in circles.

You look around for Cameron, and realize she must be off collecting breakfast, or water – it was suppose to be her turn, you think – and sigh heavily, hoping long deep breaths will help your stomach, which is currently churning in anger. You walk as quickly as you can to the nearest bush, drop to your knees (as painful as it was) and moan.

* * *

Seven days … seven fucking days – one entire week has gone by and you're still in the same situation. The same situation that you assured Cameron would pass quickly, as you tried to calm her down from hysterical wreck to hopeful individual.

"_It's going to take them awhile to search the general area Cameron. Don't lose hope!"_

"_It's okay Cameron, it's only been two days, they'll still be looking for us, they have to be!"_

"_They're probably just taking a break to regroup and draw out new search plans Cameron. Even search teams need to rest – they'll be here soon."_

"_They'll be here Allison. It's been five days – they should be narrowing in on our area as I speak. They'll see the fire and come rescue us."_

But truth be told?

You too were finding it harder and harder to hold out on hope. You had rested for the first two days, letting the wound in your leg heal some, but neither of you had let the fire die down in hopes that the rescue team would spy the trail of smoke drifting into the sky. You knew once they realized your bodies were missing, they'd search. They must have known the plane had been off course, and that they needed to search in a certain hundred mile radius from the crash site, right?

You keep telling yourself that up until day six, when it is Cameron that snaps herself out of the haze she'd been in (delayed shock, you guessed) – crying and staring into space the entire time – and quickly adopted the realist behavior that was responsible for the two of you being alive right now and not dead from hypothermia, shock or dehydration.

The two of you had ventured into the jungle that sixth day, intrigued by the sound of running water, and pure curiosity. You'd both been delighted to find a pool of fresh water, with a small waterfall cascading down a set of brown rocks. The two of you had briefly forgotten your situation, and waded into the blue pool, taking solace in the salt-free water and chance to relax. When you were finished, you'd also realized you were surrounded by hundreds of trees growing enough fruit to last a small village a decade. The two of you had loaded up the bag you'd brought with fruit, filled a large container with water, and set off to your makeshift camp, somewhat happier than when you'd left.

You'd both sat down around the fire, had some of your meager supplies for dinner, then sat in comfortable silence as you watched the sun sink into the horizon, the birds singing happily in the jungle behind you.

That night when you'd gone to bed, you didn't think twice about taking Cameron into your arms, as you settled down to sleep. It was an unspoken gesture - one that neither of you talked about, but took comfort in.

* * *

"How charming House. Is the steady diet of coconuts, bananas and power bars getting to you? I'm sure that plant appreciates the added nutrients."

You just moan again as you keep your head inside the confines of a very nice fern, showing the pathetic looking plant what you had for dinner last night.

"House?"

You feel Cameron's hand on your shoulder, and notice her voice has taken on a tone of worry. You pull yourself up from your position over the plant, and the look on Cameron's face as you turn to her lets you know you probably look as bad as you currently feel.

"Oh God, House …"

You just nod and pull yourself into a standing position, leaning into Cameron as she puts her arm around your shoulder. She helps you walk back to the shelter on the beach. You sit down next to her once inside, and she turns from regular old Cameron, into Dr. Cameron. You meekly watch as she grabs your wrist, checking your pulse. The shaking, cold sweats and vertigo returns with a vengeance and you put yourself back into a supine position, and close your eyes to avoid Cameron's concerned stare. You hear her say something about you being as pale as a sheet, but you don't care. You aren't sure if you have the courage to withstand this.

"There didn't happen to be any methadone in those bags we found, right? An island methadone clinic would be a change over the confines of large Marge at the detox clinic back home!" You laugh to yourself, your voice vibrating with the shaking of your body. Your weak attempt at sarcasm to hide the pain in your voice falls on deaf ears, however.

Cameron just looks at you, and shakes her head. She moves a bit closer to you, and brushes the hair off your forehead with her hand. You're about to ask her what the hell she thinks she is doing, but stop yourself. Any other time you'd be highly embarrassed to have somebody you know see you go through this ordeal, but you think of the alternative, and you're once again glad you've got her here with you. You know this is your chance.

Your shaking hand finds hers.

"Thank you Cameron." Three simple words, but you're proud of yourself (though you're not going to let her know it). You roll onto your stomach and close your eyes – you know you probably won't be able to sleep much once the muscle spasms and pain begin, so you're going to try now.

When you wake hours later, Cameron is still sitting by your side, her hand entwined with yours.


	11. Wilson: The Departed

**A/N:** Sorry it took so long for me to get this up. I originally planned for Thursday night, but let's just say I've been enjoying my much needed time off from school and whatnot - longest chapter of them yet though, to make up for the wait! Thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter (please, keep them coming! Even if it's only a "This is great!" or "This sucks!" it's very appreciated), and everyone who has been adding it to their favorites and alert lists. I also said I love stealing stuff from movies, well, I bet you can figure out what movie I was watching when I wrote this by the title! Enjoy the angst fest!

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**Chapter 11 (Wilson)**

"**The Departed"**

The early morning sun shines high in the eastern sky, a cold breeze blowing in from the north, birds singing in the trees. These are the things you it strange to be concentrating on, because the other thoughts you could be having right now are not an option. You arrived here this morning, and told yourself you wouldn't be one of the ones to cry, or say anything at all. People expected you to give some type of a eulogy this morning in the church, but you remained in silence, the shock of the past few days still too fresh in your mind. You were determined to not accept what was happening before your very eyes.

"Eternal rest grant onto them my Lord. Let perpetual light shine down upon them. May they rest in peace. May their soul and all the souls of the faithful departed, though the mercy of God, rest in peace – Amen."

You watch as the priest takes the hands of House and Cameron's parents, says a few words, and leaves. Cameron and Houses parents turn to each other and you look on as John House and William Cameron shake hands, their wives embracing each other in hugs. You laugh, knowing that if House had been here to see this right now, he would have been completely mortified. You laugh a bit harder as you realize Cameron wouldn't have cared about their parents meeting, but more at the Catholic service for the both of them that their parents had arranged, and you had just witnessed.

* * *

Seventeen days – seventeen long, sad days had gone by since the crash of the aircraft that suppose to be carrying House and Dr. Cameron home from the diagnostics convention in Australia. The publicity surrounding House and Cameron being the only two passengers whose bodies had been unrecovered had grown in the days immediately following the crash, and the rescue teams had spent six days scouring the islands in the south pacific, in a hundred mile radius from the crash site. Day and night, they had flown over the vast ocean, looking for any sign of life – a signal fire, wreckage from the aircraft, or two bodies floating in the water.

You had sat in front of your computer most of that time, searching every few minutes for updates on your two friends. A fellow oncologist had been assigned to your cases and shifts in the clinic, and you had taken some vacation days in order to keep yourself updated on the status of the search. Your friends and colleagues had dropped by from time to time to bring you food, and check up upon you, but you had not moved. To put it in simpler terms – you had ceased to function, and there was only a single thing on your mind.

While everyone around you had cried – namely Cuddy, who spent most of her time in her office bawling, or so said Amber as she dropped by to visit you – at word that the search efforts had been cancelled, on day eight of the mission, you still remained silent, refusing to talk to anybody who came by your apartment.

But there was something not remaining silent. That little voice in your head, your conscious, had begun to scream at you loudly. Day and night, it yelled at you that the two of them were still alive. It yelled at you while you met with House and Cameron's parents, to discuss a memorial and gravesite burial. It yelled louder at you when the plans were finalized, and Cuddy appeared to make sure you got yourself ready, tying your tie for you, and handing you your suit jacket. It yelled its loudest as you arrived at the funeral home, to place objects of House and Cameron's into two lone caskets.

It yelled at you to do anything that you possibly could, while the others around you lost hope.

* * *

"James, come here."

You find yourself thrown into an embrace by Blythe – Mrs. House – your thousandth hug of the past couple of weeks, you think.

"I don't think my son would have stayed alive as long as he had, had he not had you as a friend. I thank you for that … please keep in touch James, we'd like that."

You tell House's mother you will, and nod at Mr. House, noting with some anger that he doesn't look all that surprised, or even upset at the fact that his son had disappeared forever. You push past a sobbing Chase, Cameron's parents (you had managed a few words with them earlier) and throng of employees from the hospital and make your way over to the hundred or so chairs set up next to the gravesite.

You grab your coat that had been resting on the back of your folding chair, and find your car keys in your pocket. Without saying a word, you walk down the slight incline of the cemetery hill and towards your parked car. You have no intention on joining everyone at the wake the Cameron's had planned for everyone, but you do have plans awaiting you at home.

The main one includes yourself drowning your sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol.

Three hours later, you're lying on your couch, surrounded by a dozen or so empty bottles of Dos Equis, a dozen waiting full bottles, and a half empty bottle of Scotch that House had given you for your last birthday, two weeks before he had gone off to Australia. The two of you had never gotten a chance to work your way into it, so you were doing it for him now, you thought to yourself.

House – your best friend, and the man responsible for most of the grief in your life, but also some of the best memories that you've ever had. You glance at your bookshelf, and sit up, swaying a bit under the weight of the alcohol you'd consumed. You manage to get yourself into standing position, and walk towards the wooden shelves. You pick up a single wooden photo frame.

In it, House beams, with a drunken smile plastered upon his face. A beer bong is slung over his shoulder, and a six pack of Budweiser sits in his free hand. You are there too, a six pack of beer in each of your hands, with a smile bigger than House's on your face. You both wear tuxedos, and you laugh loudly to yourself as you remember the night of the first benefit held at Princeton-Plainsboro, three years ago. House had disappeared towards the end of the long, boring night, and appeared with the items you carried in the photo shortly after. Cuddy had taken the photo (before lecturing the both of you), then had immediately kicked the two of you off the premises, not wanting the members of the hospital board to see the two of you get completely trashed in typical House fashion.

You noticed something else in the photo though, something you had failed to notice before now. In the background of the photo you see Cameron, dressed in a formal gown, staring at House. You remember the entire night she had been frowning upon his drunken behavior, pretending not to notice him. You look again at the photo though, and the smile upon her face as she looks at your friend is impossible to not notice, as it is one hundred watt in strength.

You drop the photo as a knock on the door startles you, and the glass covering the long ago moment shatters as it hits your hardwood floor. Walking over to the door, you check through the peep-hole of the door and see Cuddy standing there, a look of anticipation upon her face. You unlock the door and stagger back to your couch, throwing yourself back down.

She gets the idea and walks in to your darkened apartment, looking at you with worry as she watches you take a drink of the scotch, straight from the bottle. She walks over to your bookcase, and picks up the frame that had landed on the floor. She looks briefly at the photo, sweeps the broken glass off the top of it into your wastepaper basket, smiles, and sets the photo on your coffee table between the bottles currently occupying it. She sits down in the lounge chair next to you.

"I was coming over here to tell you to go easy on the alcohol – I was certain that would be your activity of choice as you left the cemetery today – but you know what? I think you have the right idea."

You wordlessly hand her a bottle of beer, watching as she opens it and takes a long drag of the liquid.

"Do you think they could still be alive Lisa?"

"James … " she looks at you and sighs rather sadly, "I would love it if that were the case, but I'm trying to look at things realistically. The plane exploded in two, and crashed into the ocean James. It seems highly unlikely that the two of them would have made it out alive, as much as I would like it not to be so."

"But don't you feel it too? I can't stop this feeling inside of me. This feeling that keeps telling me they're still out there somewhere – that we, that they, shouldn't have given up."

Cuddy walks over and sits down next to you on the couch, putting her arm around your shoulders.

"I did James, I did feel it. I felt it until I realized it was only me hoping so badly for them to be found – for them to be alive and uninjured. I wanted it so badly too, for my sake, so this immense guilt would go away … the guilt of sending them there. But they didn't find them James. They looked and looked, and they're not coming back."

You throw the bottle of scotch at the wall and watch it shatter with a loud crash that is certain to make your neighbor come running. You break down, and you hear Cuddy crying as well. You embrace her as she buries her head in your shoulder.

"I'm going to miss him so much. Yes, my work life will be easier, but I would give anything … I would give anything to hear him make one more joke about my cleavage. I would give anything to see Cameron one of those frustrated looks, as he bothers her down in the emergency department, or to have another face off between the two of them in my office … starting world war three over a disagreement in patient care. Or even for another malpractice case to be dropped upon my desk, to add to his collection."

She pulls away from your shoulder and looks at you seriously.

"I'm going to miss them both James, but I'm going to accept it and always remember the time we had with them both. You need to accept this reality too, as horrific of one as it is."

You grab a bottle of beer and take a drink. You look at the photo on the table again, out the window of your living room, and finally back at Cuddy.

"Yeah … you're probably right Lisa. Just give me some time."

An hour later your pass out on your bed, Cuddy already asleep on your couch in the place you occupied all night.

* * *

As the sun rises in the east on the eighteenth day, you tiptoe out of your apartment, leaving Cuddy asleep on your couch. You put a few things into your trunk, and climb into your car. Quickly starting your engine, you take off from the curb, and head to your destination.

You arrive at the cemetery twenty minutes later, and climb out of your car into the freezing cold of the morning, and climb up the small hill to section six of the Princeton Memorial Park. You walk a few yards, and stop for the first time to look at what you refused to acknowledge yesterday.

Underneath a large weeping willow tree, two tombstones sit next to each other, the early morning sun reflecting off of the grey, newly engraved stone, a picture of your two friends atop each.

**DR. GREGORY ALEXANDER HOUSE**

_Loving son, friend and healer of the sick_

_A soul not always liked by those on earth, but appreciated and remembered by all_

**DR. ALLISON ELISABETH CAMERON**

_Beloved daughter, sister, friend to all and aide to those in need _

_Her true beauty will never be forgotten_

Brown, newly dug earth graces each spot in front of the headstones, and you notice for the first time exactly how many flowers litter both graves, by the sickly sweet smell drifting into your nostrils. Six feet below, two coffins lay next to each other, containing no bodies, but a variety of items placed there by the family and friends of House and Cameron (you had placed one of House's canes in his, Cameron's stethoscope in hers) the night before their funeral.

No bodies.

Like a flame igniting a flammable source, you feel a surge of energy boil up inside of you. You glance once more at the headstones, then look at your watch. You turn your back to the gravesite and walk back down the hill, towards your car, pulling something out of your pocket on the way. You start the engine of the car and drive off and out of the grounds of the cemetery.

The one way ticket to Sydney never leaves your hand until you surrender it to the gate agent later that morning, as you wait in line to board your flight.


	12. Cameron: Time

**A/N:** Another chapter, as I literally had NOTHING to do today. I was totaling up the events I want in this story (I've got the basic outcome down on paper already) and figure after this chapter, there will be about ten more – possibly a few more depending on how long I want to make this go on for. Thank you to the 26 people who left reviews for my last chapter (I love knowing that people like this story and where it's going). There are 119 of you with this story on alert though – I challenge you all to leave me a review for the next chapter. It doesn't have to me much more than a "Great!" or a "This sucks, make them do it!" but let me know you're still reading, and still liking/hating it! It would be much appreciated!!

* * *

**Chapter 12 (Cameron)**

"**Time"**

Seventeen days.

I could barely begin to believe that seventeen days had gone by since that nightmare morning when the plane fell from the sky above. Time passes so slowly here, and with each minute of the day, our hopes that we would be found in a timely manner began to diminish as fast as they had come on. Not only was the hope disappearing, the memories of the past ten days are chock full of some memories I see myself carrying forever – never to be erased.

It was ten days ago that House's Vicodin supply ran out, and the hell and hopelessness of the situation really began to sink in. Day one without Vicodin had been relatively pain free on his part. I'd sat with him as he tossed and turned in what can only be described as a light, troublesome sleep, for hours. I held onto his hand tightly, trying desperately to let him know that I would not leave his side (ok, not that I had much of anywhere to go), and that he wouldn't be going through this alone.

Day two without his pills had been even worse than I expected. I left his side momentarily to walk through the rain laden jungle to replenish some of our water supply, which was dwindling down quickly, but ran back without said water as I heard the scream echo throughout the jungle. Terrifying dreams of House dying and leaving me alone had plagued me since we landed on this godforsaken island, and the fear in that scream chilled my blood down to my very core.

Arriving inside the tent, I dropped to his side and saw instantly the pain in his eyes.

"_I'm dying Cameron, I'm dying."_

"_No, you're not dying House."_

"_Then kill me now, please. It hurts so fucking bad … so bad."_

"_You'll make it through this House, I promise. When have I ever been wrong?"_

"_Now isn't the time for a list Cameron. Oh God … it hurts."_

I could only hold him as he trembled uncontrollably, sweat pouring out of his skin, soaking right through his thin t-shirt. The only thing to break this action was his periodic charge out of the tent to empty the meager remains of his stomach. This continued on until it hit its peak on day five of his detox.

"_I can't do this anymore Allison."_

_I held him closer to me as he trembled with pain, tears of agony in his eyes. He'd gone way past the point of being ashamed of his emotions, and I was through being shocked at actually seeing them._

"_Yes, you can. Just tell me what to do to help you, and I'll do it. I'm not going anywhere – we're in this together. You saved me from a burning plane crash, the least I can do is help you through detox."_

"_Ok, then I need you to do something for me."_

"_Just tell me what."_

_I felt him grab my hand tighter, as more pain surged through his body._

"_Break my index finger on my left hand. Endorphins, pain – you know the whole deal. I need something to relieve this. It might not do much … but it will help. Please, Allison. I don't think I have the strength to do this myself."_

"_House … Greg – I don't know."_

"_Please."_

The look that he had given me was enough. I couldn't any longer deny that he needed something else to try and relieve the massive pain he was feeling. Watching much more of this was not an option for me either. I'd seen him try desperately to relieve the symptoms of detox before, and although heartbreaking, I'd seen how they had helped him slightly. I had my apprehensions, but considering the situation I didn't have the heart to say no. I briefly left the tent and came back with a flat rock, and a smaller one enclosed in my hands.

"_Ok, I will do it."_

"_Just … do something to distract me, then go for it. I don't want to see it coming."_

I thought for a moment, then did something I'd not done since I sat at Brian's bedside, so many years ago. Something I'd always done to distract him from the pain he too had gone through. I began to sing.

"_I can't see the stars anymore living here. Let's go to the hills where the outlines are clear. Bring on the wonder, bring on the song … I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long … "_

House's eyes opened wide to look at me, and a small smile grew at the corners of his mouth as he shut them once again.

"_I fell through the cracks at the end of our street. Let's go to the beach, get the sand through our feet. Bring on the wonder, bring on the song … I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long." _

Tears began to stream down my own face, as I positioned his hand below me on the flat surface of the rock, and raised the smaller high in the air, above my head.

"_Bring on the wonder, we got it all wrong … we pushed you down deep in our souls, so hang on … bring on the wonder, bring on the song, I pushed you down deep … in my soul … for too – "_

I brought the smaller rock down upon his left index finger with force, and as soon as I heard his scream and crack of the bone, I dropped the rock. House passed out from the pain, and I fled the tent to the shores of the beach. Rain poured down from the sky as I buried my head in my hands, and began to sob uncontrollably.

* * *

On day eight of his detox – day fifteen on the island – House opened his eyes and woke from the three constant days of sweating, trembling and banging of his broken finger across random objects to relieve the pain from his leg (and using every obscenity in the English language).

I smiled at him and questioned the look on his face as he sat up, and continued to stare at me.

"You broke my finger for me."

I nodded.

"You stayed with me the entire time and didn't give me any of that psychological bullshit about imagining the pain away, and picturing myself in a better place, pain free."

Another half nod was stopped in process by House, whose lips came crashing into mine, as I was pulled closer to him by his arms. The kiss continued for a few minutes before he pulled away.

"You've got some guts after all. I guess Wilson was right – you aren't THAT bad. I think I'll keep you."

"Shut up House."

I noticed that the fever and pain were gone from his eyes, as he pulled me into an embrace. The next two days, House's strength returned and while still in pain from his leg and injury sustained from the crash, even he was surprised to feel much less pain than he was expecting without Vicodin.

* * *

On day eighteen, I found myself out on the shore once again, early in the hours of the morning, before the sun had yet to rise. The leftover rain from last nights fierce storm fell silently, soaking me as I stared into the remains of the fire we'd started for warmth last night.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

I watched as House sat down beside me, easily, without the amount of pain he'd been in, in the days prior.

"Nothing really, just about how eerily familiar this place looks to the island in the film 'Castaway' and what everyone back home is thinking about us being gone for so long."

"Too bad we don't have a volleyball with us. I could make us a Wilson to talk to! He'd probably be more entertaining than the real one and less likely to lecture us – ok, ME – for doing something idiotic."

I laughed, glad that his sense of humor had returned now that he had begun to feel better. I coughed as a blast of wind blew across the shore, and stood, moving closer to the water.

"You should come back inside, you'll get sick sitting out here in the rain like you've been doing every morning. We can wait for it to let up then go collect some supplies in the jungle, and maybe have some hanky-panky down under that waterfall, now that I've got my groove back?"

I laughed at the hopeful, teenager about to get lucky look on his face.

"Yes to the supplies, and we'll see about the latter. I want to watch the sun come up, but I'll be in soon."

Rubbing his hands together in childlike glee, he ducked back into the tent. I was glad he didn't see, and thus would not be able to question the look of doubt that had grown on my face over his anticipations for later in the day. Neither of us had talked about that kiss, and I'm not sure either of us were quite ready to. I chalked it up at first to post-detox insanity, but I didn't know for sure. I felt that lust – that feeling of butterflies going crazy in my stomach - I always carried for him since the day I began my internship returning full force. It had been growing since that morning in the hotel room, post conference incident, when he'd initiated me into his group of friends.

But more than anything, it scared me.

Both of us were facing what seemed like an impossible situation here – dwindling food, the need for a better shelter, the lighter running out of fluid, among many other issues – and I wondered if it was really him and a genuine change of heart towards me, or the fact that we were facing eternity on an island in the middle of nowhere together?

… and Robert. I couldn't deny the guilt I'd momentarily felt as House kissed me. It was like my situation with Brian all over again, only Robert was very much alive and well back home in New Jersey.

I just wondered this time if it would be I, like Brian, who would be the one to die?

* * *

Lyrics belong to "Bring on the Wonder" by Susan Enan (Bones fans will recognize it – Bones is my other fandom, and I had to use it, such a beautiful song). Next part will be up soon – enjoy!


	13. House: Fate

**A/N:** I was planning on putting this up tonight, but I figured you've all been patient and waited long enough! I apologize though, for the long delay between postings – I've had some issues that have arisen that have kept me from my computer, and as much as I'd like to ignore them … most issues come before writing fan-fiction! Nothing that serious, but I should be back on course for writing this story with regular updates once again from this point. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and has stuck with it so far! I'm winding into the last portion of the story, and am glad that you're all enjoying it!

* * *

**Chapter 13 (House)**

**"Fate"**

Day twenty-one on the island and you are amazed that the two of you are still alive.

All the horrors of withdrawal that had run through your head had come true, but by the miracle of some … by the miracle of SOMETHING, you had made it through the unthinkable. You had survived the one thing you had been dreading your entire life post-infarction and come out on top. You'd like to think that it was personal strength and willpower that had a large part in breaking free from narcotics, but any mention of those attributes and you'd be lying through your teeth. You know it's not what pulled you through – it's WHO pulled you through.

From the moment you started to display symptoms of the withdrawal, she had never left your side. You remember the vivid dreams you had during your feverish bouts of the drugs leaving your system the most. The times you were alone during your infarction played through your head like a nightmare reborn, and the feelings that Stacy cared more for her job and her life than you. You dreamt about all those lonely, agonizing, pain-filled nights in the ICU with nobody to hold your hand … the longing for somebody to do just that trapped inside your head.

It was the sound of Cameron's voice that would pull you from these dreams, and the feeling of her hand in yours, that would ultimately stop the nightmares. Yes, you still pictured the hospital so many years ago, but it was Cameron's face that took over Stacy's.

You know Cameron had nowhere to go, so might as well sit with you, but you know you've got to thank her if you pull through it all – you wonder if you even have the words to tell her how much it means to you? You do know though, above all else, that you wouldn't be losing Cameron from this point on. You know for sure from the moment that she willingly broke your finger to take away your agony that for better or for worse – even if you both died here – she would be sticking around. It was the first time you'd actually opened your eyes to see the look on her face whenever she talked to you. All those times that she visited you back at work even after leaving your team, and the look she gave the camera as she said she 'loved you' back when some patient was filming a documentary at the hospital played fresh through your memory. The thoughts of what could come from this are enough to make you smile through the pain.

* * *

"Do you think we're ever going to get off this island House?"

The look she gives you is nothing short of heartbreaking. You had woken up from a nap and found her sitting in the same place you had found her in the previous mornings – a bank of rocks stuck out into the ocean a few yards away from your camp, the jetty overlooking a quiet lagoon with water so crystal clear you could see the fish swimming along the bottom. Often joining her, you knew she liked to sit and feel the spray of the ocean upon her face and watch the sun rise on the horizon.

You sit down next to her on the rocks.

"I don't know … I just don't know."

You pull your jacket closer around yourself, the dropping temperatures making you shiver. You know now is not the time for false hope, so you don't give her any. You're almost positive if you tried to summon some positive thoughts anyway, that you'd fail miserably … even for her. You know you're not getting off this island - you think you started to realize this from day one.

"I'm so cold and tired House. We're running low on supplies, the lighter fluid is a drop from being completely gone and I'm sick of pretending that it's only going to be a few more days until the two of us are saved from this nightmare."

She coughs as a gust of wind picks up, and you say nothing. You don't bother, because you know nothing will help at this point.

* * *

You wake to the sounds of intense coughing on day twenty-three on the island.

The lighter fluid ran out yesterday to Cameron's prediction, and a rather intense rainstorm had put your plans of keeping the fire you've had going straight to hell. You had both spent the night clinging to each other for warmth, buried under every set of spare clothes that had been recovered from the crash – trying desperately to keep yourselves warm from the torrential downpour around you.

Though completely miserable, you remember the previous night as a changing point in your relationship with Cameron. While shivering under your leaking shelter the two of you began to share stories of your lives with each other, in attempts to make each other forget the seriousness of the current situation. You'd learned all about Cameron's childhood growing up in the Midwest, and all about her husband and the baby she'd lost, medical school, her parents and siblings and even her feelings about Chase – all the questions you'd always longed to pry out of her. She in turn heard from you the saga of your time in medical school, why you became a doctor, your journeys across the world as a military brat, your father's cruelty and your time with Stacy - stories previously reserved for the company of Jim Beam and Jose Cuervo.

You'd also shared another kiss, before she finally fell asleep in your arms, quietly asking you how many tomorrows you both would see on this island?

Now, as you're watching her cough and struggle to draw a deep breath, you're wishing that fate hadn't been listening so carefully to Cameron's final question of last night.

"I'm fine House."

You notice she's struggling to sit upright, the classic sigh of somebody trying desperately to regain a position that allows ease of breathing and a good enough supply of air into their lungs. A brief glance in the morning sun reveals a pale Cameron and a quick touch of her forehead to the back of your hand reveals that she is burning up.

"It's sitting in the rain all those mornings that did this. I don't care how beautiful this place is, I should have knocked some sense into you."

She doesn't grace you with an answer, but leans against you, falling back into sleep almost immediately. Without the persistent coughing filling the confines of your shelter you get your first good listen at her breathing … which immediately makes your blood run cold.

You've seen enough textbook pneumonia in your lifetime to know what you're facing.

* * *

By the next morning, you've lost your ability to stay calm and rational, and have begun to panic at the realization of what has been going on. The amount of times that Cameron has woken in the past six hours have been growing further and further apart and with each passing of the minute on your wristwatch, you seem to hear her breathing grow more and more labored. You don't need to be a doctor to know that time is running out, plain and simple.

The thought of losing the person you'd grown so close to over the past twenty-four days has you putting your brain into overdrive, completely and utterly petrified. As you walk around the forest collecting firewood, you know the chances of somebody seeing the fire you intend to somehow get going are dim (subconsciously thinking you're doomed), but you figure you owe it to Cameron … one last attempt. You didn't share your life story with her for nothing.

Down on your hands and knees, feverishly rubbing sticks together over wood is how you find yourself ten minutes later. With much surprise, you get a giant blaze going (your hands are going to be littered with blisters) and sigh in somewhat of relief. You don't know who is out there watching, but you know they're not going to miss the heavy black smoke rising from your campsite.

"House?"

You turn to the sight of Cameron, who his weakly standing by your shelter with a blanket around her shoulders, looking like it is nothing but the last dregs of willpower keeping her standing. She looks like death warmed over as you quickly walk to her.

"Cameron … Allison, what is it?"

"I want you to know something. I love you House."

Her words are enough to bring tears to the front of your gruff exterior – a combination of the stress currently overtaking your every being – but you don't get a chance to say anything as she collapses into the sand like a rag doll. They end up being the last words you hear from her. She continues to breathe with extreme effort throughout the remainder of the day and night, with you at her side.

With the approach of dawn however, you realize that she no longer responds to your voice or gentle shaking of her shoulders. Your pleas for her to wake up are heard by only you, and mother nature.


	14. Cuddy: Destiny

**A/N:** The story is going to start picking up after this chapter – probably quite a few cliffhangers if I write things the way I'm planning, lol. Sorry to leave you all hanging last night, but as much as I'd love to – I've got to write it first before I can post it … remember, I've got the main things planned, but it's basically all unwritten! We're having another character change now, which means another POV – hope it's not TOO confusing, I just see each character being presented in a different way and it's giving me a good chance to experience writing from different POV's (which I sorely need). Thanks to everyone who decided to review the last chapter, and yell at me that I better not kill off Cameron. It gave me a good laugh! I still cannot believe I'm almost at 300 reviews and well over 100+ people on the alert list, that's never happened to me before on here! Anyway, enough rambling – here you go, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 14 (Cuddy)**

"**Destiny"**

It took me three days of telling myself that he had completely lost his mind, before I was able to summon up enough nerve to log onto the internet and buy myself a ticket.

It was no surprise to me where he'd gone. I woke up that morning on his couch the day following the funeral services for House and Cameron and James was nowhere to be seen. The sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach told me something was up, and I was right – a single sheet of paper lay on the small table next to his phone. "I think you know where I'll be. – James" was all that it said. It was really no surprise – with the way he'd been behaving during the service – that he'd gone off looking for something I was one hundred percent positive he would not find, but who was I to stop him? It was sad to know he was in such a state of mourning for his best friend, but touching almost, to see the true binds of their friendship coming into play.

"Just humor him, then bring him home." That is the only thing I could tell myself as my layover in Hawaii ended, and the plane took off for Sydney. I figured convincing him after a few more days of fruitless searching would be easier in person.

* * *

"James, it's Cuddy. I know you're probably ignoring my calls, but I wanted to let you know I just arrived here in Sydney, and I'm at your hotel. Room number three-thirteen. Please call me back."

I snap my cell phone shut and stare out of the window and into Sydney harbor. Dreading it could be hours until he arrived back, I figure a nap was in order, jet lag finally beginning to catch up with me. I figured packing could wait until later, so after a quick change to pajamas, I lie myself down on the bed, sighing happily as I finally get a chance to relax. It seems like my head just hit the pillow though, when a loud knocking on the door wakes me from a sound sleep. A quick glance at the clock told me it had been several hours since I placed the call to Wilson – well after midnight. Yawning, I ruffle through my belongings to find a bathrobe.

"Hello Lisa."

"James, come in … please," I point at the table and chairs, making notion for him to have a seat before shutting the door behind me.

He looks absolutely worn to a frazzle and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. I say nothing though, and just watch as he throws himself down into a chair, after tossing a pile of papers on the table next to him. A moment later and he's in the mini bar, searching for what I can only presume is alcohol. He's sunburned and sporting a wild look in his eyes as he finds his prize – a bottle of water, which he downs quickly. I'm not quite sure what to say to him … he looks so un-Wilson … so out of place without his lab coat and tie.

"You didn't have to come all the way out here to help me search Lisa. I've only been looking for four days – I think I can manage."

I watch him rub a hand through his hair and reach for a paper on the table … a large map, I notice.

"James," I say, more gently than I really want to, "I'm not here to help. I'm here to get you to come home and back to work."

"I've been hiring a chopper to take me out and around the crash site for the past few days with a supply of emergency medical equipment. We've covered about all of the surrounding areas from the original search where they could have made it to after the crash, but I'm going to have the pilot stop to refuel on a small army station on an island north of the crash site tomorrow before going on. I think looking a bit further is the way to go." He points an area out to me on the map.

"James … "

"The weather was pretty bad on the day following the crash. It could have taken them well past the area that the original search team covered. I think it's our best shot, and the forecast tomorrow should comply and make good search conditions."

"JAMES!"

I watch him close his eyes.

"Don't Cuddy, just don't."

He holds his hand up at me to stop and I can't help but grab it. His fatigued, bloodshot eyes catch my stare, and it frightens me. There are no traces of the Wilson we all know and love in there – just a haunting emptiness, with a dash of determination of the likes you only see in one person … his best friend.

"You've got to accept it sometime, and you know I'm right James. You can't go on wishing for something that isn't going to happen."

He pulls away from me and gathers up his maps. I can see clearly he has no intention of listening. I wipe a few tears out of my eyes and watch sadly as he turns to me.

"I'm leaving from the airfield next door at four o'clock in the morning – sharp. You're more than welcome to come with me, pessimistic attitude and all. I'm sure House will find it amusing to know you finally gave up on him."

The slam of the hotel door is what I get before I can even give him a reply.

* * *

"Sir, I don't think this is going to give you whatever answers you're looking for."

I smile in appreciation at the helicopter pilot as we lift off the ground. I met Wilson at the airfield at quarter to four this morning, tired, but ready to get him to come home when today's search efforts failed. I felt ridiculous looking for two people who were obviously dead, but I care about him too much to let him go through something like this alone.

"Look, you're getting paid for your time. Just shut up and fly the damn helicopter, okay?"

Shooting daggers at Wilson's rude statement is all I can do before mouthing the words, "I'm sorry," at the pilot. He rolls his eyes and tells me to hand him a map with the area he wants searched marked off.

The two hours it takes to scout the small islands before reaching our refueling stop is tedious. I had a pair of binoculars and looked a bit to humor Wilson, but he barely notices as he practically has his own pair glued to his face. Scouting though a storage area of the helicopter, I notice that Wilson must have spent a fortune on medical supplies – there is a good few thousand dollars worth of supplies in here, and some electronic equipment letting me know it comes from Sydney General Hospital – there is enough to stock a fully functional ambulance here.

"Look mate," the helicopter pilot points at an approaching island, "We're stopping here to refuel. Maybe you could save yourself some cash and let your lady friend talk some sense into you by the time I'm done?"

There is not so much as a nod from Wilson – only complete silence – as the helicopter touches down on the island. Wilson sits there silently the entire time the chopper is refueling, concentrating very hard on a map and gripping his plastic water bottle so hard it slips out of his hand and goes flying across the passenger area of the helicopter. The pilot finishes and boards the cockpit, and it's one look at Wilson before he shakes his head, starts the engine and we climb back into the sky once again.

A light fog begins to appear, breaking up the crystal clear morning as we approach a new bank of islands that suddenly appear on the radar screen in the cockpit. The blanket of white stretches over the oceans surface with no trace of land to be seen.

"I'm going to circle and dip down below the fog mate … it's usually pretty hard to get a visual in this area, so hang tight."

I sit back in my seat and sigh, as the helicopter makes a sharp turn and dips underneath the blanket of fog, and we get our first glimpse of the islands.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"HOLY SHITE!!"

"HOLY SHIT!!"

A trinity of obscenities floods the large helicopter cabin as we get a good realization of what we're seeing. The large tropical island spans a good mile or so below, and right from the northwestern edge is a dark black plume of smoke, rising thick into the air above – completely visible to any human eye.

"Get this contraption on the ground NOW!" I find myself screaming, as Wilson is already at the supplies, loading bags onto his shoulders. I can't even think to tell him it could be anybody down there, because I'm too shell shocked to find anymore words as I look out the window once again, in pure shock. As the helicopter begins its descent to the stretch of white sand below, I feel Wilsons hand grasp mine as he sees what I am looking at.

A few hundred yards away as we are landing, a bright yellow life raft emblazoned with "AIR AUSTRALIA" is clearly visible, sitting a few feet away from a large pile of burning wood.


	15. Wilson: Found

**A/N:** I had to let you all fester with a good cliffhanger for awhile! This isn't the longest of chapters, and I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but it'll do. I felt it's a bit choppy feeling and rushed, but I think with what is happening in the story at this point it somehow suits it. The flow will return once things "settle down" a bit, I hope. You also get another cliffhanger! Special thanks to the 44 people who reviewed my last chapter (330 reviews total, WOW!). I assume the ones of you that have yet to leave a review (and are hiding on my alert list of 150 people) are reading it too though, so I thank you – don't be afraid to leave ANY sort of comment, I welcome them and like to know if you're enjoying the story! I won't bite, I promise! Oh, and there's probably some medical terminology in here and will be from this point on - if you don't know what I'm talking about, get familiar with Google :)

Also, I've been having some major problems with my internet connection the past few days, which is why I have this up later than I'd planned. Until I get this settled, I have to go downtown to get a connection at the library, so updates might not be as frequent until I get things settled ... but I won't abandon the story and will keep writing - don't worry!

* * *

**Chapter 15 (Wilson)**

"**Found"**

You never really thought that hope would be such a difficult thing to hold on to.

You know deep in the core of yourself that you should listen to Cuddy and follow her home – defeated, hope completely lost, and accept the fact that your best friend and fellow hospital co-worker had perished in the sky two weeks ago. Days of searching the bright blue waters of the South Pacific had brought forth no signs of life, and you felt your spirits failing, but you felt you owed it to House to keep looking.

You don't give up on your friends or what you believe to be right, your father always told you. His words remained fresh in your memory as you set off into the sky on your fifth day searching, with Cuddy by your side. She'd tried to get you to go home, but the stubbornness you'd picked up throughout the years prevailed (a trait picked up from House, you imagine) and you left her hotel room in a silent rage, determined to pick up where you left off the night prior.

You knew tomorrow would probably end in failure, but you needed – you HAD – to give it at least one more try before you could lay your hope to rest beside House and Cameron.

* * *

"HOLY SHIT!!"

You're immediately glad to feel Cuddy's hand on yours, because if it wasn't there you're almost certain you'd reach over to defibrillate yourself, because you're positive your heart is a second from stopping. After hours of nothing but calm waters and island after island, you'd reached the point you wanted to search today – some two hours further than the previous day's efforts. Descending through a bank of fog, the first thing you see is a giant plume of black smoke rising into the air.

"GET THIS CONTRAPTION ON THE GROUND NOW!"

Cuddy's barking orders, but you remain silent and focus your efforts on gathering as much medical equipment onto your shoulders as possible. You know … you KNOW that it's your friends down there and while you're slightly scared at what you may find, you know for the sake of all your efforts you need to find out now – good or bad.

The helicopter touches down on the sand and it takes about two seconds for you to jump out and rush down the shore towards the yellow life raft that you all spied from the air. Taking a deep breath as you arrive, you step inside the makeshift shelter and freeze.

"CAMERON, PLEASE, DON'T DO THIS TO ME, PLEASE ……. "

House is bending over Cameron, administering CPR, his voice about ten octaves higher than usual with a pleading tone you have never heard from him before. His hands are shaking as he presses down on Cameron's chest in a rhythmic pattern, and he makes no notion that he sees you standing in the tent.

"House …"

Your friend falls over in the sand and watches you with wide, tear filled eyes as you rush in and drop to Cameron's side with your medical supplies. Cuddy arrives in the tent, a second behind you and immediately breaks down as she spies House, and then looks to Cameron lying supine in the sand of the shelter floor. House looks at her in shock and back to Cameron, still not saying a word, just staring. Cuddy drops down beside you, common sense and medical training kicking in after the initial shock of seeing them both alive.

You grab an ambu bag from your supplies and place it over Cameron's mouth, pumping life into her lungs while Cuddy takes her pulse. She tells you it's there, but it's faint and going fast – you need to get her to the helicopter to intubate and place a tube down her throat to secure her airway. The helicopter pilot hands you a backboard and you're helping to position Cameron atop it when all hell breaks loose.

"YOU ARE NOT TAKING HER FROM ME. GET AWAY FROM HER, I NEED TO SAVE HER … I NEED TO SAVE HER! …"

A wild look appears in your friends face as he grabs hold of Cameron, trying to resume CPR. He fights you, as you attempt to push him away from Cameron.

"HOUSE, look at me. It's Wilson, House. We're going to get the both of you out of here. We're going to help her. Look at me House."

You're suddenly knocked over as your friend throws his arms around your waist, and clings to you so tightly you have to get the helicopter pilot to help you release his arms from your body. He's mumbling nonsense a mile a minute and you're not sure of it's a concussion, detox or plain delirium from being away from civilization for so long. You assure him you're not going anywhere (you're trying to find the right words through the shock of seeing actual emotion from a man you thought was emotionally dead) and that you're going to help the helicopter pilot take Cameron to the chopper, and that Cuddy is going to help him there as well. You only receive a slight nod as he finally releases his arms from around your waist, and sits himself down in the sand.

Cuddy hands the bag pumping life into Cameron over to you and the helicopter pilot helps you bring Cameron to the chopper.

A quick look back as you re-board and you see Cuddy bending over House, checking his pulse and your friend pushing her arms away in attempts to get himself upright.

In the safety of the helicopter, you manage to get a breathing tube down Cameron's throat and connect her to the portable respirator, as you begin to start IV's and attach monitors to her motionless, unconscious form. Her vitals are scary to look at, but you've calculated the time it will take you to reach the mainland and you silently pray that you'll reach there with no added issues. You know there's a good chance that her vital signs will not remain steady for long, and it's imperative that you get her to a hospital as quick as possible.

You let the pilot know it's safe to take off, and inform him when you stop to refuel, to add just the amount that will get you to land safely, as you don't have a moment to lose. He nods and tells you he planned on it, and that he's going to radio for an ambulance to meet you at the airstrip.

Satisfied that you've done all you can do for Cameron, you turn to your best friend to assess the damage. He's in good need of a shave and showing obvious signs of dehydration, but more worrisome is the lethargic, blank stare in his eyes as he ignores Cuddy and yourself. You notice he's favoring his right leg as he leans forward to grasp Cameron's hand, and you can't help but gasp as you spy an angry red gash peeking through the tear in his pants on his left leg. He won't let you near him, and chooses to spend the rest of the flight sitting next to Cameron, watching her vital signs and whispering something undetectable to yourself and Cuddy, in her ear.

A sigh of relief comes as the pilot informs you that you're twenty minutes out from touching down at the airstrip.

In the past hour, Cameron's vitals have drastically gone down and in one scary moment about thirty minutes ago, her heart monitor flat lined to the horror of yourself, Cuddy, and House … who briefly tried to push you away and defibrillate Cameron himself, but backed down once he realized his hands were shaking too hard to hold the paddles properly. You'd managed to get her heart started again, and her vital signs went up to the resting place they'd been at prior to asystole.

A bigger sigh of relief comes as you spy the land outside the small window of the helicopter. You can see bright flashing lights which you assume are ambulances, but learn as you touch down on the ground that your observation was not entirely spot-on.

You find police cars holding back a throng of news cameras and photographers as the doors to the helicopter are thrown open and paramedics board to grab the backboard currently holding Cameron. House all but tumbles out of the copter after them, as he's got a grip on Cameron so tight you're positive three or men will be needed to remove it. The paramedics look at you as you hop out after them, and grab House, attempting to hold him back.

"I SAID NO."

You're sure you're going to have another struggle on your hands as you manage to somehow remove his hands from the side of the gurney now supporting Cameron, but you find out you're going to have nothing of the sort. He stops and stares as Cuddy rushes off towards the ambulance, and climbs in back with a paramedic and Cameron. Ignoring the shouting of questions from the press and flashing of cameras you turn to your friend and tell him you're going to go in a separate ambulance to the same hospital as Cameron to get looked over.

He says nothing, and it takes a second for him to collapse to the airstrip tarmac below, falling into unconsciousness before you even have a chance to catch him.


	16. House: Lost

**A/N:** As promised – here it is ... a nice big giant pile of angst! I've been looking over my rough storyline that I made out before I began this story, and based on it – I'm looking at about five more chapters, possibly six, so it's definitely winding down. I can't believe I've been writing this thing since April! Or the fact that I'm getting SO many reviews and other than my disregard for Australian geography I'm happy I haven't managed to screw it up yet! Thank you again to everyone who consistently leaves reviews – I appreciate them all, and try to reply back to everyone kind enough to leave one. Also thank you to the hiding users … it's never too late to leave me some feedback you know (HINT, HINT)!? Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 16 (House)**

"**Lost"**

"We will always remember Allison Cameron. Not only was she a beloved daughter, but she was a beloved friend to all – especially the patients she cared so deeply about, many of whom are here today to honor her memory. She will never be forgotten by all that remember her, and we know her soul has gone to a better place."

High in the Eastern skies of New Jersey, the sun has broken through the cloud cover of the early morning and shines down upon the grouping of people standing next to a mahogany casket. Perched atop its gleaming surface is a pile of pink and white roses, the dew from the early morning still hanging on to the delicate petals. Fifteen or so feet back you stand, away from the weeping crowd, watching silently as family and friends and many former patients step forward, tears weighing heavy in their eyes. One by one, they file forward and place a single white rose upon the shiny wood surface. They murmur their goodbyes to a woman who touched the paths of everyone she came across, who is now at peace under four inches of solid wood, asleep on a bed of silk for all eternity.

You step forward after the majority of the crowd has left, but are pushed aside immediately as Robert Chase falls to his knees in front of the casket, tears streaming down his face, sobs loudly escaping from his lips. He clings to the exterior of the coffin and his cries of "Allison" drown out the sounds of the birds, and the crowd departing the grounds for the wake you know will follow the service.

You watch his overdramatic display of grief for a brief moment, but jump back as he pulls a handgun from the inside pocket of his black suit. He holds it up to his temporal lobe, and glances around to make sure nobody is watching. He spies you standing behind him suddenly, and tells you not to try and stop him – he needs to be with the one he loves, no matter what the cost. His heart deserves to rest beside hers six feet under the ground for the rest of time, because he's nothing without her.

"No one is stopping you Romeo."

You smile and go to leave him to his fate, but Wilson appears and grasps your arm as a gunshot echoes throughout the cemetery.

* * *

"HOUSE!"

"I think he's beginning to come around, Dr. Wilson."

"House, it's Wilson! If you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

The loud volume of his voice makes you want to give one gesture in particular with your hand, and it's certainly not a squeeze. It involves a middle finger and a look of annoyance for breaking up the bright end to the start of what had been a horrific nightmare.

You're not sure how you wound up here, but you know that sound – the rhythmic beeping of a monitor, the sound of carts rattling down a linoleum hallway, and the sickening smell of what can only be described as the worst food ever to be served – you immediately know you're in a hospital. A crack open of your eyes and you are proven correct. You are lying in a hospital bed attached to a million wires and the boy wonder himself is sitting by your side, his hand in yours. You remove it and bring your hand up to touch your forehead in pain.

You suddenly remember the island, CPR and your efforts to save Cameron when Wilson and Cuddy appeared. You sit up abruptly and lower the bedrail.

"Whoa, slow down House."

The vertigo forming in your head as the room begins to spin immediately makes you close your eyes and take Wilson's advice. Without opening your eyes, you take a few deep breaths of the pure oxygen being provided to you through a cannula and settle back down into the pillows behind you. You decide to ask the inevitable.

"She's dead, isn't she?"

"Cameron?"

"No, the other twelve bikini clad girls I was stranded with …"

"She's still with us House."

"How bad is it?"

"Are you sure you should be worrying, you're still in pretty bad sha – "

"HOW FUCKING BAD IS SHE WILSON?" You raise your voice in hopes to get the message that you're not up to being treated with the kiddie gloves, and want the truth.

"It's bacterial pneumonia. You've been unconscious for three days House, how are you feeling?"

Yelling even louder for a total of one second completely drains you of all energy, but you've got to know. You've got to know how bad she is and if the worst that you've been imagining has come true. You know by a quick glance, that the look on his face shows nothing but a want to evade the truth, and you don't like it.

"She's three rooms down from you here in the intensive care unit. They had her on the highest dosage of amoxicillin but the bacteria is not responding. She went into respiratory arrest about ten hours ago and they've intubated her and started her on the highest dosage available of erythromycin, but … "

"But what?"

You keep your eyes shut, not wanting to see the sympathy you can hear in his voice written across his face.

"She's also developed encephalitis House. They're not sure when it started developing, but it's no doubt from the bacteria running through her blood. She's unconscious and hasn't woken since they brought her into the emergency room. Her heart is under tremendous stress … it's bad, House. Very, very bad."

You try desperately to put thoughts of Cameron out of your head. It's easier this way – because you know how bad it is, and how much more badly it is going to hurt if you lose her. You try to convince yourself that you haven't grown as close to her as you thought you had, and that you'll be able to go back to how things were before you went on this godforsaken trip … pick up where things left off. You should know that everyone leaves you in the end and you silently curse yourself for ever believing that things could be better.

You know you are lying, and reach for your chart to silence the thoughts of Cameron running through your head. Wilson sees you looking at it and hands it to you.

You're not at all shocked to find sepsis listed as the number one issue in your chart. Wilson tells you that you were in shock and downright hysterical when they found you. Severe dehydration is listed next, followed by a concussion that Wilson tells you, you received when you collapsed at the airport – your head hit the pavement before anybody could catch you. All three of these reasons explain the numerous bags hanging from an IV pole next to your bed, and the horrible feeling of weakness and pain running through your body.

Another quick glance though, tells you that this morning your blood pressure has come up from dangerously low levels for the first time in days, and labs indicate the infection is responding to antibiotics and being cleared from your system. Your leg has been bandaged, cleaned and sewn up with black stitches you can see underneath the thin layer of gauze.

It's all good and well, you think, but you know that no amount of stitches, bandages or painkillers swimming through your system are going to be able to touch the real pain that is running through your head. None of them will erase the memories of palm trees and ocean wind, or the sound of Cameron's laughter as you watched her skip stones into the transparent blue waves of the ocean. None of them will erase the memory of Cameron's hand in yours, or the feeling of her arms around yours as you survived the worst few days of your life.

You open your eyes to Wilson's worried look, and a question of where you went just now … you stopped responding to his questions.

"I think I need to be alone. This is my attempt at niceness Wilson, so please, can you come back later?"

You receive a nod and he's gone in a minute, after placing your chart back in the holder on the wall.

You feel your eyes grow heavy and the last thing you remember is the sound of the nurse as she comes to check your vital signs.

* * *

The next time you wake the sun has gone down in the sky and the clock in your room lets you know that it is close to one o'clock in the morning. You've been asleep for more than eight hours, and yet feel like it's been twenty minutes since Wilson sat by your side and delivered the news of the only other person on your mind right now.

Ringing for a nurse, you begin to unhook yourself from all the monitors attached to your skin. Many of them begin to beep loudly as the nurse comes in with a wheelchair and looks at you like she's not in the least bit surprised.

"Your friend said you'd probably try and go see her." She waves a hand in the direction of the hallway outside your room. "He told me that it would be in my best interests not to fight you, or I'd more than likely end up crying in some type of shame."

You smile briefly, glad that Wilson knows you so well. With an effort that exhausts you down to the very core, you move yourself to the edge of your hospital bed. The nurse comes around to stand next to you, and even though you're embarrassed, you let her help you off the bed and you ease yourself down slowly into the waiting chair, hissing at the shooting stabs of pain in your bad leg. The nurse pulls your IV pole towards her, checks a few things then hands it to you to wheel beside the chair as she pushes you. You leave the room, and a moment later - after a quick ride down a short hallway - you arrive at a cubical with a sign telling you it is the room of Allison Cameron.

You hold your breath as the nurse parks you beside the bed. You inadvertently close your eyes for a moment, then open them when you feel you're ready to see what lies before you.

Cameron is connected to more wires than you found yourself with, and is intubated, but still as beautiful as ever. She looks so peaceful lying there on the bed – so peaceful that it's hard to believe that a war of epic proportions is currently being waged beneath the exterior. You think about looking at her chart, but instead grab her hand. Your memory drifts and you close your eyes again, and hear her voice singing softly to you as you convulsed with the pain of detox. You begin to sing along with your memory, not really caring who hears you at this point.

_I can't see the stars anymore leaving here. Let's go to the hills where the outlines are clear. Bring on the wonder, bring on the song …I've pushed you down deep in my soul for too long … _

"Please Cameron. Please, don't leave me."

You open your eyes, hoping to see her staring back at you or displaying some type of movement or sign that she's heard your desperate plea … anything.

You get nothing but the sound of the respirator as it breathes life into her lungs, and the steady beep of the monitors.


	17. House: Everybody Lies

**A/N:** I know you all probably hate me for the zillion days between updates, but all I can offer is "C'est la vie!" That's life, and when life comes calling your priorities take a shift. A simpler explanation is that I didn't have my own internet connection here at home for over a month, and combined with such unpleasant things like jury duty, the return of college and trying to find a job … well, it didn't leave a lot of time to haul my laptop down to the public library (only place to get free internet) and sit down to write. But I did promise you I would finish it, and now that I've got internet service back here at home … the story will continue, though this will be the unofficial last chapter. THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE, DON'T WORRY - THAT will be the OFFICIAL last chapter coming next. Thank you to everyone who has waited patiently and reviewed the last chapter. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 17 (House)**

"**Everybody Lies"**

You spend the next week and a half in a complete and total daze. You haven't felt this bad since your infarction and you even begin to think of that period in your life as a walk in the park. Compared to what you're dealing with now, both physically and emotionally (something you admit you didn't think you would ever have to deal with), you're seriously wishing things could be as easy as inducing a coma to relieve the pain.

Do-gooder until the very end, the ever faithful Wilson has remained by your bedside. He's sat with you in periods of complete silence - on your part - and annoyed you to no end with his optimistic bouts of telling you that you are going to be ok, that your life would be ok after you returned home, and that Cameron is going to be ok – you'll both return home and move forward. You wouldn't be surprised if he leaned over and kissed you, tossing confetti into the air, with the mood he has been in.

He enjoy wiping all optimism and enthusiasm off his face however, as you break your silence and tell him he better get his ass out of your room for at least a few hours, or your ever growing strength might cause you to strangle him – you will make sure you aren't held responsible. Seeing the anger in your eyes, he retreats and leaves the room, sucking the cheer out with him and leaving you to your dark thoughts.

Thoughts that focus on one specific person – Cameron.

Hovering on the divide between life and death now, for over a week, she remains unconscious. You know the fact that her vital signs are stable is promising, and that there have been no more crashes in those same signs since you arrived is even better but nothing will shake the feeling you get when you visit her.

Since you arrived, you've been down the hall to visit her every night. She has lain there, motionless, through every visit – the slight rise and fall of her chest via the respirator, and the green lines upon a computer monitor the only indications that the woman lying broken before you is still in this world, and not the next. You sat there night after night, holding her hand, playing the "what if?" game inside your head, while fighting off memories of your time together. All the games in the world are not enough to make you forget what it felt like to connect to another person, and are not enough to make you forget your medical knowledge. You know what the chances of coming off a ventilator are, after a prolonged amount of time, and you can only imagine what kind of brain damage the infection has caused.

Cameron's parents arrived two mornings prior, and you've been leaving them to stay with their only daughter during the days – in part to separate yourself from the anger you feel towards them, knowing they didn't even want to fly all the way out until they knew exactly what was going on, and what her chances were of pulling through. They've come to visit you though, and have showered you a multitude of thanks for saving her life, and have continued to do so since their arrival. It took exactly one visit from them to make you pretend to slip back into unconsciousness. It's hard to miss the sympathy reflected in their eyes – your own parents did not make the trip due to your father and his need to be an asshole – and you find it too much for you to handle.

You do catch one of their conversations though, and its topic makes you smile with satisfaction. Wilson had been in the hall talking to Cameron's mother and Mrs. Cameron had let it slip that Chase had begun to see another girl a day after the "funeral" and declined offers to accompany them to Australia. Sending his love and a message that they would "talk" when she returned, he found it too hard to deal with right now, knowing she was in fact, still alive.

How could you NOT smile when your assumptions of him being a social climbing jerk had been rendered completely true? Cameron and Chase were sure not going to be any Tom Hanks and Helen Hunt breed of lovers when they returned to New Jersey – that completely certain.

Ok. "IF" you both returned – realization hitting you.

* * *

Two weeks to the day that you and Cameron had been rescued from the island, you received your all-clear to be released from the hospital. Drained, weak and seething in pain from weeks of no vicodin in your system, it took every last bit of energy to haul yourself off of the bed and into the waiting wheelchair the zit faced candy striper had presented you with. Your hand wrapped in a cast, a pale complexion and a mattering of bruises across your arms were the only visible, physical, gifts from your own personal nightmare. Sepsis cleared from your system, you were now on your own to face the demons from your ordeal on your own.

"Dr. House, your friend told me to bring you to the front of the hospital. He's gone to get his rental car and will be around to pick you up."

"Whatever – just hurry up about it and then you can return to your mundane volunteer job, since you were obviously not bright enough to play with the smart kids."

Obviously annoyed, she parked you directly outside the front doors and left you to wait for the boy wonder. Five minutes later, a navy blue Toyota pulled into the loading dock revealing the face of your best friend. Agonizingly slow, you planted yourself in the passenger seat and he set off, informing you that he'd gotten two rooms at the hotel across the street from the hospital, and picked up a few changes of clothing and other items for you, to replace the things you lost in the crash.

He hands you a bottle of Vicodin, which you glance at briefly, and shove into the pocket of your sweats – unnoticeable to Wilson, who has his eyes on the road.

You say nothing, but find your thoughts wandering to what had gone down early the same morning.

"_House?"_

"_What is it Wilson?"_

"_I uh … I've just spoken with Mr. and Mrs. Cameron. They're returning home tonight, their plane leaves at five o'clock."_

"_Thanks for confirming my suspicions that they don't care a thing about their daughter."_

"_They're going to take her off life support before they go, House, and say goodbye. I think you need to do the same. Damn it House! Will you please give me some inclination that you're hearing what is coming out of my mouth? Cameron is going to die House, probably today. You need to go and say goodbye to her because I know you well enough to know the look on your face right now is not that of indifference. I know you care about her, and I don't know what went down while we were looking for you, but it was obviously something. HOUSE?? FINE … I'll be back for you later when you're discharged and you can stay silent and say goodbye, or not say goodbye."_

He'd left the room in a huff, and unbeknownst to anybody, you'd locked yourself into your bathroom and fought a breakdown for well over half an hour, knowing Wilson was 100 correct with his assumptions.

What you both had not counted on, was fate intervening on your behalf once more.

* * *

You did meet Mr. and Mrs. Cameron in Cameron's room later that afternoon, after taking a shower and changing clothes at the hotel room Wilson had gotten for you, and stood by the door, watching quietly as Cameron's attending told them how to switch off the life support machine when they were finished saying their goodbyes. Mr. Cameron stroked his daughter's cheek and held onto his sobbing wife, as she kissed her daughter's hand repeatedly, finally whispering a faint 'goodbye" and "I love you."

They were about to flip the switch, when they noticed you standing in the doorway.

Mr. Cameron left the room, but Mrs. Cameron held back, taking your hand in hers.

"She loved you, you know? We may not have been as close to Allison in the years since she completed medical school and moved away, but every time we talked to her your name came up dozens of times. She idolized you, and told me she wanted nothing more for you than to be happy, even though you pushed her away. Even after she left your department, she still talked about you fondly. Please, would you tell the nurse to take her off life support once you are done? I don't think I can do that, I really don't."

You find yourself nodding, and Cameron's mother disappeared quickly into the hall and into the arm of her waiting husband.

Turning, you take a seat beside the figure lying in the bed like you had done so many nights prior, and take the lifeless hand into yours. You simply stare at her for quite awhile, waiting, as if you somehow expect her to wake up and tell you everything was going to be fine. You finally hesitate, and begin to tell her what you longed to tell her three years ago, as she marched into your office looking for a job.

"Everybody lies, Cameron, and I am no exception to that rule. I told you that you were lobby art, and tried so hard to mess with your emotions at every chance, but I didn't mean any of it. I asked you to the monster truck rally at first because Wilson wasn't available, but later found myself pretending that I was actually on a date. I liked being with you, working with you and arguing with you. Every time you clenched at my sarcasm, I may not have shown it on the outside, but inside I was smiling. I've never been able to say these things to you, but I'm going to take my chance now and hope that stuff about coma patients being able to hear what is going on around them is true, because I want you to hear it. You saw me at my worst out there, and I realized something important – you didn't want to fix me because of some personal crusade, you wanted to do it because you cared. You know what? I appreciated every single ounce of it, more than I can say. I'm a better person for having known you, and I thank you for that … and when I get home, I promise you I'm going to try to fix things. I'm going to try to be the person I was when I was with Stacy, and the person I was on that island with you in the middle of nowhere. I'll still be insufferable and rude, but I'm going to try and be happy."

Looking to make sure nobody is watching, you silently extubate her, removing the tube from her throat carefully. You then quickly place a kiss upon her lips. As you do so, the life support monitor above her begins the telltale whine, and you know she'll be gone in a matter of minutes. You turn towards the doorway, coughing to hide the sound of the sob that is emerging from your own throat, and cover your ears so you don't have to hear the flat line you know will happen in moments.

Suddenly, you are immediately pushed aside by a crowd of nurses rushing into the room you just vacated.

You turn back towards the doorway, uncover your ears, and find the source of the commotion that has erupted around you.

Cameron's EKG monitor has begun to pick up strength, and her oxygen saturation levels have begun to rise - she has begun to breathe on her own. A flurry of activity surrounds her, oxygen masks being placed and intravenous lines being replaced, and you feel your cane drop to the floor with a loud smack on the linoleum, followed by what feels like your own heart stopping.

Is it really happening? Is fate finally paying you a favor?

Falling into the chair by the door, you watch as her stats begin to climb their way up to what can only be called normal. You watch as the minutes pass, and the nurses and doctors finally leave her to rest, and you inch your chair closer to her bed to watch her lungs fill with air without any added help from a machine.

You think you must have fallen asleep and figure the feeling of somebody touching your hair must be a dream. Your suspicions are confirmed as you wake to find Cameron, still breathing on her own with her eyes shut and vital signs stable. You rub your own eyes, grab your cane off the floor and stand slowly, figuring now is a good time to break away for a cup of coffee and a chance to stretch your legs.

You also figure you might as well leave a voicemail for Mr. and Mrs. Cameron to find when they return home, too, though the hospital staff has probably taken that into their own hands.

You've already turned your back to her in preparation to leave, when you hear it … almost a whisper, in a scratchy voice.

"Everybody lies, huh?"

You turn around, and face the open eyes of Allison Cameron, which are staring into yours.

"Absolutely," you find yourself saying after a second to recover from complete shock, "and I'm the biggest liar of them all."

Her laugher brings a smile to your face for the first time in weeks, and you know … you just KNOW, that things are going to be absolutely fine.

**THE END**

* * *

EPILOGUE TO FOLLOW SOON, DON'T FREAK OUT!


	18. Cameron: The Beginning of Forever

**A/N:** Ok – I lied about when I'd post this. I started writing and was on a roll and couldn't stop! This is IT – the very last chapter. I had originally planned on a few more, but taking a look at my notes, I figured it would have dragged on WAY too long. I'm hoping that this last chapter will answer any questions you might have, because there will not be a sequel. I don't have the time to write anything of huge proportions right now, though I will definitely be back with more in this fandom, maybe with a few more one-shots here and there. Is there any storyline in particular that you'd like for a on-shot in the Hameron category? I am open to suggestions! Towards the end of the semester when I'm facing more free time, I might begin a new multi-chapter story – you never know. I've got a few ideas!

Anyway, what I want to say more than anything is THANK YOU. The response to this story has blown what I expected completely out of the water. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd get over 400 reviews, all of them positive! Thank you to everyone who took the time to place me on the story & author alert lists, favorite story list and the favorite author list. It means SO much to me that you even bothered – YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. The biggest thanks of all to those who left me reviews on each chapter, because they kept me going.

So … thanks again, and here it is – enjoy! I only got 17 reviews on the last chapter – hope I'll get a few more this time, as I worked hard to make it enjoyable and LONG. HINT HINT.

* * *

**EPILOGUE (Cameron)**

"**The Beginning of Forever"**

_ONE YEAR, THREE MONTHS LATER_

_The last actual memory I have of my time on the island, was the look of fear upon House's face, and my need to tell him that I loved him. My world enveloped into blackness, the only thing I remember from the weeks I spent in the hospital were the vivid dreams. Dreams of myself flying along a deserted, pristine white sand beach followed. I walked the shores of that beach for what seemed to be days, searching for the source of the voice that would echo through the vast green jungle separating the shore from the opposite end of the island. Along with the sound of House's occasional laughter, came the haunting strains of a song – the same song I'd sung for House weeks prior – in what seemed to be his voice. I would try to cross the line and travel into the mess of trees, but an unseen force held me back. I sat there at the divide, listening to my name being called, and the sound of birds singing in the distance. _

_But still, I could not cross._

_Then, I heard it. House's voice began to grow closer through the jungle growth, coming towards me. _

"_Everybody lies Cameron … especially me."_

_I tried again to cross into the jungle, and succeeded. I followed a path through the trees and to the waterfall I knew was hiding, in a clearing not far beyond. With each step I took, his voice grew stronger, louder. I picked up the pace and finally stepped into that clearing and saw him._

_Cane thrust aside, he glanced briefly at me and dove into the pool, which was not water, but a sea of small white Vicodin pills. _

_I opened my eyes, and suddenly I was lying on a bed with House staring down at me, a telltale look of shock upon his face._

_I spent three weeks recuperating in the hospital, with House by my bedside the entire time. It was then that I learned of my illness, and the appearance of Wilson and Cuddy on the island. Good old Dr. Wilson – he'd pulled through and saved both of our lives. I learned that House himself fought blood poisoning and illness, and that my parents had been there. He told me they had given up and had removed me from life support when I suddenly came back to the world of the living, giving everyone the shock of their lives. It was almost too incredible to be believable. _

_I did know though, that I owed one person – besides Wilson – thanks for saving my life. It happened to be the very man sitting next to me._

_As the days in the hospital passed, my strength grew and I learned that I would be released soon to return home. Wilson and Cuddy had been by repeatedly, but House never left my side. We didn't speak of the time we'd spent on the island, or what we had been through – we just sat, hand in hand, quietly watching television. Together we faced reporter after reporter who invaded our privacy to get our accounts of what had happened, and waited patiently. Waited for the moment we could return to all we had known, and pick up where our lives had left off more than a month prior. _

_It ended up taking four dosages of Ativan to get the two of us home to New Jersey in one piece. _

_Hand in hand, we boarded the aircraft at the end of the fourth week in Australia, convinced that with each other's help we could survive the plane ride home. The plane sped down the runway and blasted into the air, and moments later House was informing Wilson that he should probably get out the drugs because by the look on my face and the fear he was currently hiding beneath his own exterior, it would probably be for the better. _

_Blissful slumber took over the two of us, and when we woke, we were touching down on American soil._

_The hustle and bustle of Newark International Airport was a shock to both of us. _

_Fighting through the massive amount of television cameras and news reporters, Wilson and Cuddy led us to Wilson's car, where we both sighed in relief as we pulled away from the madness – neither of us wanting to deal with it, as we'd been through more than the average person has to deal with in a lifetime. Wilson nor Cuddy questioned the fact that House got out of the car with me when we arrived at my apartment, less than an hour later. With assurances that we would be ok, the two pulled off and left us to reacquaint ourselves with all we'd left so long ago. _

_For three months following our return to New Jersey, all I craved was the smell of the ocean._

_Neither House, nor myself had returned to work. Finding it almost impossible to fit back in to a daily routine, we spent most of the time together, trading days at each other's apartments. Friends and family came and went, and their concerned looks passed before our eyes, but we gave them absolutely no thought. Friendly, reassuring words floated from my mouth each time somebody would ask me about what we had gone through, but I knew they would never understand. _

_Robert and his new girlfriend dropped by, and I wasn't surprised. He told me he couldn't stand to be alone following my "death" and she had helped him through it. I didn't care, not finding need to tell him he didn't really mean that much to me anyway. I suspected he already knew that, by the way House stood protectively by my side through the entire visit, his eyes boring a hole directly into Chase with a "I dare you to try and say you want her back," strength. _

_The only person who understood, had grown to be the most important person in my life._

_I now knew why Stacy loved him so much, and my beliefs that there was a thoughtful, caring individual beneath the rough exterior were proven true. It was his hand that found mine at night, as a nightmare of the plane crash would find its way into my slumber. It was my hand that found his as he woke suddenly, night after night, in a sweat – clawing at the covers, shouting about fire and water. Neither of us said anything during those nights – we simply held onto each other until the darkness took us both back down again. _

_It was also during those days together that we began to take the trips to the ocean. _

_Driving through suburban New Jersey, we would continue until we ran out of land, and hit the shore. Checking into a hotel, we would head for the water's edge and sit there together. It was nothing like the sunny, bright blue waters of the Caribbean – the Atlantic shoreline being rocky, dark and depressing – but the smell was the same … salty and comforting. We would sit there together until long after the sun went down, then return back to the hotel room to talk for hours about our time together, followed by sleep in preparation for the drive home the following day._

_Nearly three months since returning home to New Jersey, we made the mutual agreement to return to work. _

_That night, I returned home to my apartment and House remained at his. _

_We both shared a ride to work the next morning and returned to a mess of our colleagues into the conference room, welcoming us both back with a party. Smiling, I tried desperately to return to the person I once was and joined the celebration. House, chose to hide out in his office, which made everyone laugh – avoiding work like the plague being his true statement of normalcy. _

_Though in the months that followed, I began to notice something different about him. It was something different that gave everyone who had ever worked with him the biggest shock of their lives. _

_While still sarcastic and rude to those who got on his bad side, he had developed a personality that none (well, except for myself) had ever seen in him. Cuddy no longer had to constantly badger him to complete his clinic hours. While the jokes about her cleavage had died down to an on need basis, they had definitely tapered off. The nursing staff had begun to tell stories of House and Wilson in the cafeteria together, with House pulling out his own wallet to treat his best friend to lunch. I finally caught it myself, and Wilson's incredulous look as House paid a bill of over thirty dollars. _

_I also saw him react so uncharacteristically, as he helped me out in the emergency department. A young boy had been brought into the ER after the small Cessna aircraft he and his father had been flying had gone down in a field not far outside of Princeton. I pulled back the curtains to find House sitting with the six year old, holding his hand and telling him that he was going to be fine, and so was his dad because "more people than you know survive plane crashes, and things always end up fine." Tears formed in my eyes as I heard what he said, and I backed away slowly, a smile forming upon my face._

_I never once saw a Vicodin bottle in his hands from that day forward._

_Another month later, I would find out why._

_Receiving a call from Dr. Wilson, resting after one particularly grueling nightshift, I learned that House had checked himself into the hospital. Racing from my apartment, I arrived at Princeton-Plainsboro to find he had checked himself in, only to the surgery department. Worried beyond belief, I rushed to the pre-op room to find House prepped for surgery, lying on a gurney in wait for a procedure I had no idea of._

"_Greg? What is this?"_

_I grabbed his hand and he smiled at me. _

"_I made you a promise back in Sydney, and I've always been a man of my words … even if those words haven't always been said meaningfully."_

_He handed me his chart, and told me to open it. _

_I immediately saw the words "amputation at patient request – recommended several times by personal physicians over the course of his life post-infarction" leap off of the page. I looked back down at him and he nodded._

"_I told you that I was going to be a different person when I returned home, and I will be – only this time, pain free from something I should have done so long ago when that old bitch Stacy sat by me, begging to listen to the doctors."_

"_But, why now? There are other alternatives you could try …" I started to say, but he cut me off._

"_They are temporary alternatives, with no guarantee," he said, as he grabbed my hand with his left. "Besides, I think I'm going to need all the painlessness I can get."_

"_Why is that?" I looked at him curiously. _

"_Excuse me, Dr. Cameron – please, say your goodbyes because we're going to be taking him in, in just a moment." A nurse in operating room garb poked her head out of the doorway, giving me the thumbs up when I nodded in reply. _

_I turned back to House, and gasped in complete shock._

_Now, resting in the palm of his left hand, sat a small black velvet box. I brought my own hand up to my mouth, not able to find anything resembling the English language. He opened the box to reveal a diamond ring sitting in its center, sparkling with the light of the fifth floor pre-op room._

"_I'm so much easier to be around when I'm not in pain, or so I've heard," he said, smiling at me, "and I'd like to show you that, if you'll marry me."_

_Right then and there, I found myself crawling on top of the gurney, kissing him with a fiery passion I didn't know I had in me. Ignoring the loud whistling coming from the emergency room doors that had now been flung open, I continued to kiss him._

"_I would tell you two to get a room, but the only one we've got available is currently booked for surgery in a couple of minutes." Dr. Wilson said, appearing, clothed in a blue mask and operating gown. _

"_SHUT UP WILSON!" House said, before pulling away from me. _

"_So?" House looked up at me, his blue eyes searching mine for an answer._

"_YES!!" I managed to shout, as they began to wheel him away, tears streaming down my face._

* * *

"Allison, are you ready?"

I pull myself away from my thoughts of the past year, and back into reality.

Cuddy pokes her head further into the tent, before finally stepping inside, drawing the brightly covered canvas closed behind her. She smiles at me, and shakes her head.

"I can't believe it, I really can't."

I smile, and take one more glance at myself in the mirror. Standing up, I smooth out the fabric of my flowing white dress, and turn around to find my father standing next to me, standing tall in his black tuxedo. He asks me if I'm ready, and I nod – I've never been more ready for anything in my entire life.

We step outside the tent and I'm greeted with the bright tropical sun and white sand beach that I've spent a year longing to return to. We're back on the island – OUR island – only this time to do something I thought I'd never have the chance to do properly, ever again.

When discussing the plans to marry, the only thing that he and I could both agree on, was where we wanted it to take place (the arguments of House wanted to be married in a Rolling Stones t-shirt to Pink Floyd were arguments I eventually won). It cost a fortune, but the two of us had flown our closest family and friends to Australia, and with the help of Chase, his local friends and the massive settlements from the airline – we purchased the island the two of us had been stranded on over a year ago.

I travel the new wooded pathway through the jungle, my father by my side. Cuddy and Elise - Wilson and Cuddy's newly adopted five year old daughter (Wilson and Cuddy having recently made their own trip down the aisle) - traveled ahead of me, Elise gleefully throwing white rose petals into the air in a childlike burst of playfulness.

We reach the clearing, the sounds of the waterfall now filling our ears.

Ahead, at the end of the path, stands the man who changed my life in ways I thought were not possible. He stands tall, Wilson – his best man – by his side, beaming. Before us stands a justice of the peace, and in the chairs scattered behind us, our family, friends and colleagues we've come to know over the years past.

Walking forward, I kiss my father goodbye, and step up to the makeshift altar.

Joining hands with House, the justice of the peace begins the ceremony, until he reaches the time to recite the vows. Turning towards me, House looks contemplative, then speaks.

"Thanks for fixing me."

He winks, ignoring the puzzled look from the justice of the peace, and the laughs of the small crowd of guests. I laugh, the pictures of a corsage and an Italian meal gone wrong instantly floating through my head. It was all he needed to say – I knew that I had found the person my mother told me I'd find, as I looked through her wedding album as a tiny child of four, questioning her about the day I'd be married.

I turn to him, and look up.

"You asked me why I like you. You're abrasive and rude, but I figured everything you do, you do it to help people. But I was wrong. You do it because it's right. There are only two ways I can deal with things. One is in my control. That's to love you, no matter what you say or do, because it's not only because you are right – it's because you care. "

It takes a moment for him to remember a shared moment in his apartment complex, over three years ago. When he does, a fifty watt smile lights his face, followed by the sound of his laughter – no longer a foreign sound, only showing its head on a rare occasion.

As the ceremony finishes, I kiss him once again – though this time with morning meaning that I've ever been able to show through a kiss alone. Sounds of clapping erupt behind us, as family and friends gather around us. We chat for a few minutes, then depart back to the home that now stands on the island, a hundred yards away from the waterfall.

It is later in the evening, as the sound of music and our wedding guest's laughter echo throughout the jungle, that he and I find the time to steal away to the shore.

Hand in hand, we walk down the white sand shore until reaching an area with a small wooden bench – the same area where we camped out, bloodied, bruised and emotionally destroyed – and sit down. On the horizon, the bright orange sun begins its descent , and he and I watch together, silently. Tomorrow our guests and I will return back home to the United States and House and I will depart on a honeymoon (we made an agreement to return to Australia on vacation, and rent out our island while we are at home), but this moment is ours.

Suddenly, House notices something towards the shoreline and breaks contact to investigate. I follow quietly, and we both approach the water's edge.

Lolling back and forth into the water, and floating near the shore, is a small translucent orange vial. The paper surrounding the bottle is well worn away, but he picks it up, and opens the safety seal. Into his hand, fall a full prescription of pills – Vicodin – no doubt the very pills he searched madly for, one year ago; the same pills he was convinced he had on him at time of impact.

We both stare incredulously at them, when he puts them back into the bottle and flings it out to sea. Grabbing my hand, he smiles down at me.

"It's the beginning of forever, right Allison?"

I smile, and take his hand, placing it upon my stomach with a small suggestive smile.

"The beginning of forever," I say. He looks at me, in complete shock, his eyes questioning if I mean what he thinks I mean.

I nod.

We rejoin hands, and walk back into the jungle to join our guests, as the last of the sun disappears on the horizon.

**END**


End file.
